


More Than Can Be Chewed

by raven_aorla



Series: Celestials on Camera [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Andrew Ilnyckyj, Aromantic Asexual Andrew, Body Horror, Crossover, Curses, Demon Shane Madej, Disordered Eating, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pica, Pica is compulsively eating nonfoods, Platonic Cuddling, Queerplatonic Relationships, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-07-23 00:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: “I recall a good little angel, long ago, telling me not to interfere with human choices,” Dr. Sable said, his horse-shaped brass cuff links glinting as he gestured. Andrew flinched and tightened his grip on Steven like this expensive restaurant was a den of lions and this man was one of them. “Be careful with your young friend. I doubt you want him to go hungry. There are so many ways to go hungry.”[Can be read on its own.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If I've done my job right, someone who hasn't read anything else in this series should be able to enjoy this story, but feel free to ask questions and make story-related requests!

Steven hadn’t told Andrew the news yet. Adam knew, because Adam did a lot of behind-the-scenes logistics for the show and it was useful for him to know. Various people directly involved knew as well. But Steven thought it would be fun to spring it on Andrew as a surprise right after they wrapped up their latest season of Worth It.

Right now they were filming an episode on restaurants whose whole deal was catering to a specific health and/or weight loss trend - with the disclaimer that people shouldn’t go on a new diet regime without consulting a doctor and that the Worth It cast were only qualified to say if the food tasted good or not. The low-carb/gluten-free restaurant and the Paleo restaurant had both been in LA, but the third option had required going further afield. It would have been nice to bring Annie along to help Adam, but this meal was going to be so expensive that they could not have also paid for her plane ticket without going seriously over budget.

Steven made sure Adam was buckled up in the back of the rental, Andrew also buckled in the passenger seat, and finally checked that the camera on the dashboard was running before he started driving. “We’ve flown all the way to Aspen, Colorado - home of outdoor recreation and high-end dining - to check out ‘Slm’. It’s pronounced like ‘slim’, you know, skinny, but missing a letter. That’s how slim it is.”

“Then how do you know it’s not pronounced ‘slam’?” Andrew asked wryly. Then he gasped. “Do you see that hawk overhead? It’s huge!”

The conversation got derailed for a few minutes while Andrew talked about the hawk and Steven tried to catch a glimpse of it. Adam was busy getting shots of mountain scenery and all the lovely autumn leaves. Eventually Steven said, “I know how it’s pronounced because I went to their website and confirmed it when making reservations.”

“Fair enough. So what’s the special thing about Slm?”

Steven grinned. “In general they do low-calorie versions of various gourmet recipes, but we’re going to be trying a special dinner of theirs that has _no net calories at all_!”

“That’s a bit alarming, not gonna lie,” Andrew said.

“It was designed by a food scientist. Apparently all the ingredients safely pass through the human body undigested.”

“Like gold flakes,” Adam commented.

“He beat me to it.” Andrew playfully poked Steven’s shoulder. “But we’re getting real food after that, right?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. It’s meant as kind of a proof of concept for a type of food substitute that’ll eventually become cheaper.”

“An expensive novelty,” Andrew said.

Steven hoped Andrew wouldn’t continue to sound this cynical. They never lied about the food they ate, but they had a policy to avoid being negative. “Don’t worry, we’re not the first people trying it. Aren’t all these trees pretty? I like the ones with the tall trunks with the white bark and all the yellow, uh, foliage. Don’t know what they’re called.”

Andrew snorted, but not in a mean way. A fond way. “Steven, those are the aspens this town is named after. Some people call them quaking aspens, because they shake in the wind.”

***

Slm had agreed to let them try their no-cal menu before the restaurant opened for the evening. It was in a small, freestanding one-story white building on a neatly manicured lawn surrounded by more aspens. Over the heavy wooden door was a brass plaque that looked like a pair of old-fashioned scales.

“I guess that’s a classy way to represent weight loss?” Steven suggested, pointing at the scales.

Andrew frowned for a second before his expression returned to its default. “Maybe.”

There were only a dozen tables, far apart from each other, all with white linen tablecloths and wine glasses and plenty of cutlery already set per person. An elegant fountain burbled in a corner. The trio’s footsteps echoed on the hard, polished marble floor and the door closed more loudly behind them than Steven expected. 

The manager, a white lady a wearing dark brown and cream suit and with long chestnut hair approached to shake their hands. Steven had googled her and learned she was an ex-supermodel who had quit the business after some drama about her supposedly encouraging disordered eating on social media. Her bio on Slm’s website said she was hoping to support healthy ways to achieve and sustain “a lighter lifestyle”, and Steven didn’t want to judge her. “Mr. Lim, Mr. Ilnyckyj, and Mr. Bianchi, right? It’s so great to meet you! You can call me Ms. Lacuna. Dr. Sable said he’ll be happy to get mic’ed up right away so you can start the interview. Our lab technician is still putting her finishing touches on your meal.”

Adam started helping Ms. Lacuna with her own microphone and all the accouterments. Meanwhile, Andrew had gone completely still. “Excuse me, what’s the...founder’s name again?”

“When I’m in charge of an episode I don’t tell him certain things ahead of time so that he can have natural reactions and be an audience surrogate,” Steven explained, so she wouldn’t be offended by Andrew’s question. “On the few episodes he leads, he does the same to me.”

The manager nodded. “Of course. That’s one of the things that gives your show such mass appeal, I bet! You know, we’re all very excited that you’re featuring us and helping us get the word out to a larger audience. Not that we expect the general public to come here and eat, but when these cooking techniques and materials became widespread, we don’t want them to be associated with deprivation, you know, but with fullness and enjoyment.”

“We’re excited too,” Steven promised.

The food scientist strode into the lobby, tall and slender, dark-skinned in a black suit with gray pinstripes, his beard neatly trimmed and brass cuff links shaped like running horses. “Hello, I’m Dr. Raven Sable. It’s a pleasure to -”

 _“What are you playing at?”_ Andrew snarled.

Everyone stared at him, Steven most of all. Steven had seen Andrew annoyed before. Cranky. Snappish. But he’d never seen Andrew furious like he was now, red-faced with his hands curled into fists.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Sable asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose you deserve some credit for playing the long game. I didn’t take it seriously when you swore vengeance on me in…” Andrew said a word Steven didn’t recognize. It sounded like “saireenee”. “Were you counting on me not remembering? Not noticing, just because both of us look so different now? You thought you were being coy with the goddamn brass scales over the door? Feeding without nourishing is creative, Horseman, but it’s a low blow.”

Adam mumbled, “Ooookay, then,” and started undoing all his work getting Ms. Lacuna ready. She went along with it without making a peep. 

Dr. Sable looked confused for a moment, then something seemed to click. “Oh! Oh, I see. I remember now. Oh, sweet thing, you vastly overestimate the impact your righteous meddling had on my plans. This was a coincidence. I’m going to give you one chance for a do-over. Let’s be civil and not involve our respective pets in anything compromising.”

“Pets?” Adam asked, offended.

“It’s a quirk of his,” Ms. Lacuna said. 

Andrew scowled. “Steven, Adam, we’re leaving.”

“What?” Steven put a hand on Andrew’s forearm, hoping to calm him. “If you two have issues with each other from the past, I respect that, but for the sake of the show can we at least try to talk it out and find a compromise?”

Andrew took Steven’s hand and squeezed it gently between both of his. He turned to meet Steven’s eyes. “I don’t want either of you here. I will tell you what I can but please, believe me when I say we need to go.”

“I don’t appreciate the insult to my hospitality,” Dr. Sable said.

“We’re not trying to insult you.” Steven wrenched his hand free. “I’m sorry, this is my fault for not giving Andrew more background information. I accept that responsibility. Can the three of us talk in private for a moment and get back to you? Or, like, tomorrow, maybe we can come back tomorrow?”

“We’re not coming back ever, and I am going to make sure this establishment gets investigated because I know there has to be something shady going on,” Andrew said slowly. Steven wanted to shake him.

“You said you’ll take responsibility for this offense against me?” Dr. Sable asked Steven.

“Yes, I’m really sorry.”

Now pale and frantic, Andrew grabbed Steven by the shoulders. “No, don’t, don’t. It’s a trap. This is not some normal restaurant owner. He’s dangerous and trying to find an excuse to mess with you. We shouldn’t have come here, but it’s no fault of yours.”

“I recall a good little angel, long ago, telling me not to interfere with human choices,” Dr. Sable said, his horse-shaped brass cuff links glinting as he gestured. Andrew flinched and tightened his grip on Steven like this expensive restaurant was a den of lions and this man was one of them. “Be careful with your young friend. I doubt you want him to go hungry. There are so many ways to go hungry.”

The way he said those last two sentences sounded super creepy, even though the words weren’t sinister on their own. Steven was now on board with leaving. Andrew didn’t need to drag him by the wrist so hard that Steven nearly fell down twice, though that didn’t stop him. 

Adam insisted on driving. “Otherwise whoever’s driving is going to be distracted arguing with the other guy. Go fight in the backseat. Quietly. Don’t distract me. I’ll call Legal when we get to the hotel, but from here until there I am not involved, got it?”

“What was that?” Steven asked Andrew once they were on the road again, keeping his voice low for Adam’s sake.

Andrew sat rigidly upright and stared out the window. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you. But I’ve met that guy.”

“I figured that part out for myself.”

“He’s not a good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People don’t do well when he’s involved.”

“Andrew, c’mon. I want to be on your side here.”

Andrew turned and stared at Steven for an unnervingly long time, like he was examining Steven’s soul. Then he leaned over and whispered, “I’ll tell you in our hotel room.”

“Please don’t tell me any scary secrets, I have enough baggage,” Adam announced. 

Steven cracked a tiny smile, trying to bring a sense of normalcy back. “You’d probably just blab it to everyone anyway, famous chatterbox that you are.”

Adam made a noise in acknowledgement that he had heard a joke. Andrew went back to staring out the window. A strong breeze had kicked up and the aspens were quaking like it was the end of the world.

***

Because of budget, room availability, and what Steven called “hotelmate chemistry”, Steven and Andrew were spending tonight in a double room with two twin beds, and Adam was in a single room on the same floor. 

Unlike his usual habits, Andrew simply plopped his bags on the floor, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed closest to the window. He lay on his side facing Steven, expressionless. “What few things I can tell you, I need you to promise not to share with anyone.”

“I promise.”

“Promise by something very serious.”

“Um...in Jesus’ name, amen.” 

A flicker of something crossed Andrew’s face, but it was too quick for Steven to read. “Sable isn’t his real name, but I can’t tell you his real one. He’s killed.”

“Like...people? He’s killed people?”

“Yes.”

If this hadn’t been Andrew, Steven would have asked if he was kidding. Instead he sank into the one chair the room provided. “Oh shit.”

“He wasn’t punished. He will never be.”

“There’s got to be a way for you to report him.”

“I did everything I could.”

“Are you sure?” The moment he asked, he felt it was a stupid question. He was so shocked, that was all. There wasn’t a script for him to follow.

“Please, Steven, don’t poke at this.” Andrew closed his eyes. “I thought this was some scheme of his, to do something to me because he knows I know what he is and what he’s capable of. There’s not much he can do to me directly. I thought he was after you two. It’s horrible to think that it really was a coincidence, and if I hadn’t kicked up such a fuss he might not have recognized me. Then again, I’m very suspicious of that restaurant.”

“Can you report concerns about health violations or something?” Steven asked. “If you don’t have evidence to accuse him of murder.”

Andrew’s eyes were still closed. “That might be worth looking into, but we have to tread carefully.”

“Can you tell me more than that?”

“No.”

Steven sighed and took out his phone. His heart ached for Andrew now, but he didn’t know what to do about it. “We have some backup options for our highest price point dish back in L.A., do you want to look at them and discuss them with me?”

“Yeah, okay.” Andrew opened his eyes. In the lamp light they looked almost honey-colored for a second.

***

Adam and Steven went out to eat dinner, but Andrew said he wasn’t up to going anywhere and would order room service.

Sipping his drink, Adam asked, “Whatever Andrew said, did it make you not mad at him anymore?”

“It did.”

“Mm.” That was enough for Adam. He and Steven talked about how they were going to move forward, then their food arrived.

Steven’s noodle soup tasted disgusting. Horrible. Like someone had accidentally used motor oil in the broth. When Steven couldn’t take it anymore, he told Adam and Adam gave it a taste.

“Uh, it tastes fine to me,” Adam said, sounding puzzled. “Wanna swap?”

The freshly made penne with pesto sauce Adam had ordered tasted equally disgusting, but Steven didn’t want to say so. It was probably stress messing with his appetite. He forced down as much as he could and split the bill anyway. But he was still hungry. 

When Steven got back to the hotel room, Andrew wasn’t there, but he had left a note saying he was using the hotel gym. Steven believed in exercise as a great way to clear your head, so that pleased him. He fished a half-eaten packet of crackers from his backpack to see if something plain and familiar would work better. 

Nope. Awful. 

Andrew returned, sweaty but more relaxed. “I’m going to take a shower, if that’s cool.”

“No problem.”

“Are you okay? You seem off.”

“Stress, I think.”

“Right.” Andrew looked apologetic.

Steven didn’t want to see that, especially now that he knew Andrew was carrying a level of trauma Steven had no idea of before today. “I was gonna tell you in a fancier way than this, but Buzzfeed offered me a lot of money to move back to LA. Now that I’m single, there’s not as much keeping me in NYC as there was.”

Andrew’s mouth opened slightly. “You’re moving back?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“My lease starts next we - oof!” Steven lost his breath for a moment when Andrew lunged and wrapped Steven in a tight hug. He hugged him back. Steven and Andrew were virgins for different reasons - Steven because he wanted to save it for marriage and Andrew because he had no interest in sex - but they had excellent hug game. 

“I didn’t think they’d let me have you near me all the time again,” Andrew sighed happily. 

“They?”

“The powers that be, I guess. Just an expression. I should shower, I’ll all gross.”

***

Steven did a some Bible reading and said a prayer before bed, as usual. He did so as unobtrusively as possible. Andrew never wanted to talk about religion, though he’d politely listen whenever Steven briefly said something about it. Steven’s LA bfff (best female friend forever) Jen debated religion with Steven sometimes, but in a mutually respectful way. They acknowledged how the religious community had helped Steven when he felt like an outsider growing up for being Asian, but had made Jen feel like _more_ of an outsider growing up for being a lesbian. Steven’s personal philosophy was that if religion wasn’t making you feel simultaneously loved for who you were while spurring you on to be better, something had gone wrong. And if it was making you feel like you were better than other people simply because of your beliefs, something had gone even more wrong.

Andrew was still awake when Steven turned off his bedside lamp. He was reading a book called _On the Noodle Road_ that traced the history of the noodle as the concept spread from China to Italy, with the author following that same path and trying noodle dishes en route. Steven only wished he’d had a better experience with his noodles today.

Steven hadn’t been reading Exodus before bed, but he dreamed of manna. He dreamed of finding fuzzy white frost on the ground and gathering it up to cook. He dreamed it looked like coriander seeds but tasted like honey cakes. 

Then he woke up to realize that he’d sleep-walked to the bathroom. This was rare for him, but not unheard of. The alarming part was that in his sleep, he’d wadded up a big fistful of toilet paper in both hands.

He’d taken a bite out of it. He was currently chewing that bite. It tasted amazing.

 _If Ryan finds out about this, he’ll empty a bucket of holy water over my head._ Steven thought, a tad hysterically. He made himself spit it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _On the Noodle Road_ is a real book. It's very good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The activity Crowley is doing in this chapter is a tribute to one of his interests in irisbleufic's wonderful Crown of Thorns fic series, which predates the TV adaptation.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not an expert on the history of Cyrene and my research was very light. I just wanted a plausible setting for the backstory related in this chapter.

Andrew waited until Steven was definitely asleep before he tiptoed out, laptop under his arm. This hotel had a few meeting rooms that mostly got used by businesspeople on company retreats. They were all closed and locked at this hour, but angels weren’t troubled by mundane locks if they refused to acknowledge them. 

Sitting at a conference table with his laptop all set up and connected to wifi, Andrew sent an IM to a contact he had listed as “A/C”. _I could use some counsel._

The reply came quickly. _Aziraphale’s not back yet. I don’t dislike Brahms but I’ve been to enough concerts featuring him to last me another few centuries._

 _I would rather talk to you than have to wait._ Which said a lot about how their dynamic had evolved, as well as how upset Andrew currently was. 

_:O Must be serious. Video chat?_

_If you can._

Anthony J. Crowley - the literal Serpent of Eden, though not literally being a serpent right this second - appeared to be having a solo stroll on an otherwise empty stretch of beach. While still dressed in figure-hugging black and gray, he’d rolled up his sleeves. He was holding his phone in selfie mode with one hand and carrying a small tin pail with the other. His ever-present sunglasses had a bit of sand stuck to one lens. “Sorry, just, er, doing a bit of beach-combing. Our new cottage came with private water access.”

It was nice that a demon could find innocuous hobbies to occupy himself after a dishonorable discharge. Andrew was all for it. “Found anything?”

“A few pretty shells unsuitable for hermit crabs. I’m not making anything homeless. Also three coins and a used condom. Win some lose some. What’s on your mind?”

“I had an altercation with Sable today,” Andrew said flatly. “Also known as Famine.”

Crowley frowned and made a thoughtful noise. “Well, that’s not ideal. Was he running a restaurant?”

“Yes, how’d you know?”

“It’s the sort of thing I’d do if I were him.” Crowley continued walking, but glancing back at the screen periodically with a sense that he was giving Andrew space to gather his thoughts rather than ignoring him. 

“I met him in Cyrene. The Romans had recently taken over -”

“Sorry, where?”

“It’s an ancient city, now part of Libya?”

Crowley nodded. “Ah, that rings a bell. When I passed through there about a century earlier it was under Greek control and pronounced more like ‘Kai-ree-nee’. Excellent climate. As you were saying?”

It had also been pronounced with the hard ‘k’ when Nichiel, Angel of Feeding the Righteous, had visited, but the Andrew Ilnyckyj persona always made an effort to pronounce things the modern way. “Unless I’m told otherwise, I only have to keep my own missions secret for forty years after their conclusion.”

“Two thousand gives you comfortable wiggle room, then,” Crowley said. He sat down on a piece of driftwood.

“The city had a long period of harmony between the Greeks, the Jews, and the Berbers, but by this point the Romans were having trouble balancing it all. And Christianity was just getting started. Cyrene was an important, uh, incubator for the early stages, and the Christians were having an even worse time than the Jews, and that was saying a lot. Some government officials were considering imposing a grain tax for revenue that would have fallen disproportionately on those two groups and caused massive turmoil and starvation among the most vulnerable of them. Some of the others preferred a property tax instead. Wouldn’t be as popular among the aristocracy. They said the food tax was a bad idea because that region had only barely gotten past the Zealot rebellion and they didn’t want another one like it.”

“While the other politicians were only too happy to ‘punish’ the Jewish people who followed a peaceful version of the Zealot’s faith but had nothing to do with them,” Crowley sighed. “I do love humanity but sometimes…”

“So it goes.” Andrew ran his left hand through his hair, grounding himself. “My job was to make the lands of those against the proposed food tax grow and prosper in a very obvious manner, and to make everything edible on the property of those in favor of that tax wither and die overnight. That includes food that was in their kitchens and pantries.”

Crowley whistled. “That had to have been fun.”

“Not at the time. I was doing my job. I didn’t really have the capacity to see that as ‘fun’ yet.” Andrew pushed aside thoughts of how much he enjoyed this job at Buzzfeed he’d cultivated as part of his cover story. “In the process, I learned that Famine was incognito in Cyrene and had come up with the idea in the first place, and had been influencing the rulers of the city. I confronted him and told him to leave, that too many of the humans in Cyrene were under my care now for me to tolerate his presence there. I couldn’t have beaten him in a fight on my own, but he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble of other angels coming to my assistance. That was it. Until I ran into him today.”

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Crowley said. 

Andrew did, feeling regret constricting his chest. His overprotective instincts had caused a potential disaster and he didn’t know how vindictive Famine was going to be.

When he was finished, Crowley said, “Keep a very close eye on Steven. Your other friend as well, but it sounds like Sable was more focused on Steven.”

“I tried to warn him not to take responsibility.” He slumped, feeling miserable.

“It’s not only that. You wear your heart on your sleeve when it comes to that young man, and you do it in front of millions of strangers on a regular basis. Did you learn the four most famous Greek categories of love, back then? It’s somewhat arbitrary but it’ll help me make my point.”

“You mean the words or the things themselves? I know the words.” 

All angels had a basic loyal, familial _storge_ for each other and for God. Except, as far as he could tell, Nichiel was the only one who still had it for Aziraphale. Angels who were called to assist humanity were gifted with extra _agape_ , all-encompassing divine love, unselfishly kind and generous towards everyone. What the King James version of the Bible called “charity”. Only a minority of angels seemed to be capable of romantic _eros_ , but it wasn’t unheard of. Even something approximating sex as an expression of that type of love was possible, whether in humanoid shape or no. In angels who weren’t assuming a human-style form it got a little...weird. Imagine gigantic wheels of fire, wings, and eyes interlocking and spinning joyously in the sixth dimension. Nichiel had never tried it but once witnessed such a thing by accident. Sex with a human, meanwhile, was a major no-no. Thankfully Nichiel didn’t see the appeal anyway, and his Andrew self worked at a place where all his human friends were supportive of the entire asexuality spectrum as just one more letter in a big colorful acronym. 

Crowley set down his pail solely so he could make a broad gesture. “Your _philia_ is off the charts.”

“I won’t bother denying it.” The brotherly, deep-friendship love between equals wasn’t forbidden for him to have for humans. Having a capacity for it was helping him blend in and was important to his real task here. However, he’d been criticized for letting it distract him. Plus angels and humans weren’t equals, and he was only supposed to be pretending that he wasn’t simply an instrument of God’s will. That was why his handler had arranged for a move to New York to be appealing to Steven and why Andrew had been so surprised that Steven was coming back. 

“People underestimate _philia_ as a form of love, because it’s broad and can be applied to any two or more people. In my experience _philia_ can be as deep and fierce and destructive as _eros_ , and yours shines very brightly. If I were your enemy, I’d go right for him. Much more effective than going for your throat.” Crowley mimed throat-slitting. 

“That is probably something someone needed to tell me, but I did not want to hear that,” Andrew groaned. 

Crowley’s tone softened. “I like you enough to not want you to do any additional stupid things, alright? And you’ve done nothing that’s exceeded the stupidity of a number of things I’ve done over millennia, not remotely. Promise.”

“Thank you. I’m going to watch Steven carefully, but given my track record I’m worried I’ll miss something. I admit I’d feel better if Aziraphale could take a look at him in person, but I don’t want to be any trouble.” Aziraphale still had all the strength of a Principality who had the authority for protective duties over entire regions of Earth, which gave him a lot of power and perceptiveness even though he wasn’t flashy about it. Nichiel had never been promoted past Guardian, albeit the most elite level. This meant he was only capable of looking after either individuals or select groups of humans on a temporary basis. 

Crowley predicted what Andrew was about to say next. “Also you’re not supposed to be devoting this much attention to Steven.”

“It’s not my fault that there’s not much for me to do except send Raphael weekly updates that Ryan is no longer being affected by malicious demon shenanigans like everyone expected he would be,” Andrew protested. Good thing his superiors thought the demon Shemodai was still worth tracking, regardless of his surprising affection for the human he had started out constantly manipulating. Nichiel wanted to stop being Andrew and go home one day, sure, but not yet.

“I’m a big fan of not doing as you’re told, no need to justify it to _me_.” Crowley turned his head and shouted, “Oi! Angel! Your little brother’s on the phone!”

“I’m not younger than either of you.” Technically the angels had been created in a pre-time state of eternity, so it wasn’t possible for any of them to have been made before or after each other. Whether Fallen or not, the concept didn’t apply. 

“Emotionally, though, you’re more like an adolescent and he’s on the far side of middle-aged,” Crowley said. 

“Be nice, dear,” Aziraphale said, coming into frame. He sat down next to Crowley, and his eyes kept getting bigger as Andrew told the story all over again, though in the interest of time he was less detailed about the Cyrene backstory. 

“I was thinking that Shane gave us a standing invitation to appear on his Ruining History series,” Crowley suggested when Andrew was done. “Could be pretext to visit Steven naturally without putting Andrew into an even more delicate situation than he is now.”

“I really appreciate that,” Andrew said. Having to juggle his friendships with two demons and a disgraced angel while still retaining Heaven’s approval was one of the more stressful feats he’d ever had to pull of. And continue to pull off. He’d gotten permission for his human persona to make nice with Shane, spinning it as for the greater good, but if his closeness to this pair of renegades ever got out he’d be in for suspension from duty and serious reprimanding. 

“I’d rather not be on television,” Aziraphale said.

“It’s not television, but I understand what you mean.” Andrew thought Aziraphale would stick out like a sore thumb anyway. Modern-savvy Crowley would be more like a slightly tender pinkie. 

“Then just me and you can be my partner providing emotional support,” Crowley said. He cracked his neck lazily and stretched. “I’ll talk to Shane about it and get back to you.”

“Go back to your hotel room before your friend wakes up and worries where you’ve gone, and find something to do that relaxes you,” Aziraphale advised.

“Maybe I’ll knit. Thank you for listening and offering to help.” Under the guise of a cabin boy named “Nick Eel”, he’d spent six months in the British navy during a time when knitting yourself a warm jersey was a perfectly manly and normal thing for a seaman to do while at leisure. The sailor he had been assigned to protect - mostly from scurvy, but also drowning - had decided Nick was his friend and taught him the craft. 

Aziraphale leaned forward and said earnestly, “I think it’s very brave and beautiful of you to have this affection for a human being, and I wish more angels were like you.”

“Okay, grateful but too sentimental, uncomfortable now, signing off.” Andrew didn’t want to be rude but he’d had a lot of feelings today. It tired him in a way that he couldn’t become physically tired. Once upon a time he'd been considerably more dispassionate, in a way that one of God’s tools would be when having never directly seen God’s children.

So he went back to the room. Steven was asleep in a different position now, curled into a tight ball that made Andrew wonder if he might be in pain. He told himself not to micromanage the situation and took his knitting bag out of his luggage. He was making a light scarf for Annie’s upcoming birthday, an easy project he could do in the dark. The wooden needles clicked less than metal ones would. 

It would have been creepy of him to stare at Steven continuously. Andrew knew this. But he sneaked glances at him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of [Things Old Ladies Do That'd Be Creepy If You Did them](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCvpOTIYzeM), Andrew tells the camera that he really does know how to knit, while knitting. That entire Creepy series is hilarious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had a "Food Issues" tag, but I've added a "Disordered Eating" tag.

The hotel had a complimentary breakfast. Steven was ravenous this morning and had found himself absentmindedly chewing on his sleeve until he noticed Andrew staring at him. If he felt this hungry, whatever had been off about his appetite last evening had to be better now, right? So he loaded up his plate with great optimism and took a seat at the corner table where Andrew and Adam were already chowing down. 

When Steven took his first bite of sliced ham, he gagged. It tasted how he imagined warm, flat Coke that someone had stubbed out a cigarette in might taste. Adam, who was across from him, awkwardly reached and patted his back firmly like he thought Steven was choking. Andrew’s mouth went very tight before he asked, “Something wrong with it? Mine’s fine, try a bite of mine.”

It was funny how they’d reached a point where Steven’s instinct to open his mouth and accept a forkful of food from Andrew overrode any nervousness. Thankfully his tongue called this acceptable ham, nothing to write home about but decent.

“I got food earlier than you did and maybe someone tampered with things after. I’ll talk to the manager. You’re not intimidating enough.” Andrew swapped their plates without asking, and wrapped Steven’s ham in a napkin to set aside.

Part of Steven was annoyed about Andrew being kinda overbearing about this, but most of him was simply glad to eat. The ham, scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit salad weren’t an issue at all, beyond their predictable mediocrity. Andrew insisted on handing Steven the sugar and creamer packets for Steven to add to his paper cup full of instant coffee. When Andrew got up to get himself more juice, he asked if Steven wanted seconds. Steven requested more toast.

“Why are you touching the toast like that? Is there braille on it?” Steven joked when Andrew returned. He was holding the plate with his left hand and pressing down on the toast with his right index and middle finger. His glass of juice was resting on the empty part of the plate. 

“I’m blessing it,” Andrew said, deadpan. He set everything down and dropped himself into his chair. “In the name of the holy toast.”

Steven found Andrew’s pun addiction equally annoying and endearing. “Sorry I asked. But thank you. Adam, please continue.”

Adam took a sip of coffee.“If you guys don’t object, we can just say that we didn’t realize until the interview that Andrew has had a negative previous encounter with the proprietor of the restaurant. We were concerned that this would affect his ability to review the dish fairly. But for both your privacy and Dr. Sable’s, we’re not going to comment further.”

“You’re not curious?” Andrew asked, toying with one of the wooden coffee stirrers they had here instead of teaspoons. 

“Not enough to bug you. Unless it would help.” 

“It wouldn’t.” Andrew gave him a slight smile. “You know you’re the absolute best, right?”

Adam nodded calmly and took out his phone to answer a text.

When they finished up, Steven kept his wooden coffee stirrer to suck and chew on, the way he sometimes did with popsicle sticks. He had some nervous energy. Perfectly normal. 

***

A lot of people noticed that Andrew almost always sat on Steven’s right in videos. A smaller number of people realized this was for three reasons. First, Steven drove more often than Andrew did when filming. Second, visual consistency looked nice from a cinematography standpoint. Third, and most importantly, Steven was left-handed and doing it this way kept him and Andrew from constantly bumping elbows while they ate. This had become so habitual that they walked this way, and even chose sleeping arrangements that way when sharing a room. 

All that being said (as Ryan would say, and why was Steven thinking so much about Ryan lately?) when they got on the plane to go home, Steven felt a powerful urge to upset the status quo and take the window seat, which would place Andrew on his left. For some reason he felt...hunted. He wanted to take shelter.

Not wanting to sound too weird, Steven asked while they were boarding, “Hey, Adam, it’s okay if you say no, but can we swap maybe? I’ve been away from the West Coast so much and I have a craving to see it from above.” 

Adam raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. 

Steven hadn’t slept well, due to being hungry and also being freaked out by having taken a bite of _toilet paper_ in his sleep, so he dropped off almost immediately after the plane took off. He had a disturbing dream in which Andrew was attacking and dismembering someone with a butcher’s knife, his movements quick and methodical. Steven couldn’t get a good look at the victim because dream-Andrew had huge white wings sprouting from his shoulder blades, and they were flapping around and blocking the view. Blood was splattering everywhere but Andrew’s face remained blank and impassive.

“Steven?”

“AHH!” Steven jolted awake. Andrew had lightly tapped him on the arm. “Sorry. Uh. Dream.”

“You were twitching and mumbling,” Andrew said. Real Andrew. His best friend. 

Steven took a deep breath. “Yeah, it was a bad dream. I probably shouldn’t nap too much anyway. Thanks.”

Andrew gazed at him with concern for a few more seconds before returning to his knitting. On his other side, Adam had headphones on and was watching something on his phone, propped up on the tray table with a little stand. 

Though the fasten-seatbelt sign wasn’t on yet, the plane was already starting to descend and pressure was starting to build up in Steven’s ears. He got some gum out of his pocket without paying much attention, busy looking out the window and puzzling over the dream. Steven had never had any reason to be afraid of Andrew. Maybe it symbolized being nervous about his return to LA? Even though he’d been back to film Worth It episodes since his move, there was a difference between visiting and living, and a lot of things had changed around Buzzfeed LA since he was a regular employee there. That had to be it. Also, seeing Andrew that angry at Sable had been disconcerting, even if Steven now knew that his reasons were more than understandable.

“After we debrief and everything, want to spend lunch break with the Ghoulboys?” Andrew asked. 

“Sure. I haven’t talked to either of them except through Twitter and Instagram for months.” Steven slid an arm around Andrew’s shoulders for a kind of side-hug. He put an arm around Andrew’s shoulders a lot, enough that this time Andrew stayed relaxed and thought nothing of it, but this was the first time Steven was irrationally worried that he might find lumps or something.

There wasn’t anything. Everything was fine and normal and fine, fine. He accidentally swallowed his gum when the plane did a bounce on the tarmac, but occasionally swallowing gum had to be no big deal as long as you didn’t do it all the time, right? Otherwise there would be warnings on the packaging. He didn’t realize until they were on the drive back to the office that he’d also eaten the wrapper without noticing.

***

“We heard you’re coming back to stay!” Ryan exclaimed the moment Steven and Andrew emerged from the Worth It meeting. The members of Legal and Budget had already left. Adam and Annie had stayed behind to do some more planning for the technical aspects of the upcoming shoot. 

Steven gladly accepted the hug. “You look good.”

“I was thinking we could re-form the Crazy Ripped Asians basketball team. Evan’s returned to Korea but I think I can get Justin back. We might be able go mixed-gender if we need to round out the numbers. I mean we’re accepting 50% Asians like me, so we’re already flexible. I’ll check the charity tournament rules.”

“Crazy Ripped Asians. And you say I’m bad with the puns.” Andrew leaned against a wall and folded his arms, grinning. 

“We’ll definitely talk about it,” Steve said, turning to greet Shane.

Shane gave him a looser, more casual hug - which made sense, given they weren’t as close friends - but he seemed just as pleased. “It’s great, we won’t even have to lock you in a basement to keep you here.”

“Oh ha ha.” That whole video series of everyone playing versions of themselves and their colleagues in Sims 4 had been like a fever dream, especially after Ryan and Shane had gone on a kidnapping/murdering spree within the game. Steven had liked vampire Andrew the best. 

“Hi,” Sara said, peeking out from behind her boyfriend. Sara wasn’t even exceptionally short, it was just that Shane was the second-tallest person ever to walk these halls as far as Steven knew. And gentle giant Garrett wasn’t around for comparison. 

“Hey, purple hair buddies!” Sara had natural brown hair the last few times he saw her, either in person or in photos, but she used to dye her hair a lot and now she was back at it. He was currently revisiting some violet in among the silvery tones.

She high-fived him before a soft hug. “Yay, hair buddies.”

They ended up having Thai food delivered and eating at one of the outdoor tables just outside the building, since it was a nice day. Andrew insisted on getting the food at the door and handing it all out.

“He’s satisfying his feeding kink, don’t mind him,” Shane stage-whispered. Ryan nearly choked on a bean sprout. 

Andrew’s expression didn’t change, but his cheeks went a tiny bit pink. “It’s not a kink. I’m being efficient.”

“Shane, don’t tease Andrew for being an angel,” Sara said. Shane promptly choked on his vividly orange Thai iced tea.

“I think this crowd needs someone who knows the Heimlich maneuver,” Andrew said dryly, taking his usual spot next to Steven. Then he grabbed Steven’s box of drunken noodles and slid it closer into the middle of the table. “It was about to slip off.”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to. I know that look.”

In the nick of time before an argument broke out, Jen came rolling up to them on her skateboard. She jumped off it and descended on Steven with enthusiasm, though she was clearly restraining herself and was downright gentle while squeezing him. “Dude. Dude. Are you really back? How are you? How are you feeling? Was your trip okay? Anything weird?”

“I’m really back, tired but otherwise doing good, trip was okay, I’ll tell you later,” Steven said. 

Sara patted the spot on the bench next to her. Jen plopped down and took off her baseball cap to fan herself with. “I got a bite with Kelsey Darragh two blocks away and I rushed a bit on the way back because I need to talk some Ladylike shit over.”

“I’m amused that you put the words ‘ladylike’ and ‘shit’ next to each other,” Shane said.

“It really is some bullshit about our Ladylike series, though,” Jen complained. “It’s not that I object to makeup-related stuff in general, but we’ve done so much of it.”

“Nice horseshoe necklace,” Steven said, trying to cheer her up.

It was a miniature horseshoe-shaped charm. A full-sized horseshoe would get annoying very quickly. “Thanks. Got it from a friend of mine who moved to England. Real iron. She says it’s protective. Are you sure you’re okay?” Jen was suddenly looking at him very intently.

For a second, Steven imagined telling her the truth, and by extension telling the whole table. His heart started pounding at the thought and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Just tired.”

“You sold your car before you moved to NYC, right?’ Sara asked. “Does that mean you could use a ride to wherever you’re staying?”

“I can give you a ride,” Andrew said.

Steven suddenly didn’t like the thought of being alone with Andrew in a car. It was the stupidest thing ever, and he couldn’t think of any reason that made sense, yet he blurted out, “I’m staying in a hotel closer to Jen’s apartment until I can move into my place next week. So it makes more sense for Jen to drive me. If you’re available, I mean.”

“Sure,” Jen said. She checked her phone, made her goodbyes, and skateboarded off.

***

Alone in the hotel room that evening, Steven was glad he’d sprung for a suite that included a kitchenette and microwave. He’d snagged a bunch of leftovers from the group lunch and didn’t want to go out after a long day. A quick microwave and bam, dinner.

The food tasted revolting, and Steven nearly threw everything at the wall in frustration. He’d reheated leftovers from this restaurant before and they’d been fine. He’d placed the food in a fridge at work until he was done for the day. It was possible that some prankster had added something. It seemed unlikely, but it was the only thing he could think of.

While trying to find a bite of something palatable, Steven accidentally speared a bit of the styrofoam container on his fork and put it in his mouth. It actually tasted good. He rationalized that some environmentally-conscious businesses were experimenting with edible food packaging made of cornstarch and stuff. Maybe they’d made a switch while he was away. Besides, he was so hungry and so tired of trying to figure out what was happening. 

This was how, by small steps that all made sense at the time, Steven ended up throwing away a bunch of food and eating a box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my research, the Crazy Ripped Asians team was a real thing at least one year. I don't know who was on it other than Ryan and Steven, though. 
> 
> I already have the overall plot sketched out, but I'm still welcoming prompts and requests as well as regular feedback! I would love to hear what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reblogged a photoset of the real Andrew and Steven that I deem relevant not only to this fic, but also relevant to having lived one's best life.[ Go to this post on thebloggerknownasgeeknip to see.](https://thebloggerknownasgeeknip.tumblr.com/post/186695103564/hello-everyone-have-my-collection-of-andrew-looks)

For several years, Andrew had known that Shane was secretly a demon and that Ryan was genuinely perceiving paranormal beings and phenomena. Shane had known about Ryan, but not about Andrew being an angel. Ryan had known none of these things. (Nobody, including Jen herself, had realized that she was a small-time witch with very narrow specialties until shortly before the status quo changed, but that was another story.)

Since then, a number of rules had emerged to keep their social group whole yet not get Andrew in trouble with his superiors for fraternization. One of them included Shane and Andrew avoiding each other’s homes. Another rule was that Andrew could only share certain information with Ryan, since Ryan was his assignment and a Heaven-recognized seer, and nobody else - but Ryan could exercise his free will to share that information with whoever else he chose. Andrew was very open with Jen and Sara during emergencies but remained cautious of directly revealing angelic matters to them otherwise. He was grateful he hadn’t been instructed to erase their memories of what they’d already learned. Plus Shane would probably go full feral and bite Andrew’s fingers off if he tried to do anything to Sara’s mind. Andrew wasn’t the only one who’d accidentally become way too attached to an extra human. 

Steven’s condition was well within the realm of stuff Andrew could discuss with both Ryan and Shane, though, and they met up at Ryan’s apartment to do that very thing shortly after work.

“Jen and Sara know that you’re worried about Steven being affected by spooky stuff, but I didn’t provide any other details,” Ryan said, taking a seat on his couch. 

Shane sat down next to him, about two inches closer than Ryan allowed other masculine beings to, but not touching. “Crowley called me up and said you had a run-in with Famine. He said Famine might have cursed Steven, and you want him and Aziraphale to check Steven out. I mean, assess him for curses, not like decide they want to add him to their relationship. I don’t see that working between them.”

Ryan wheezed. “Thanks for the mental image.”

“This is what happened....” Andrew didn’t feel like sitting as he recounted the story, so he was standing in front of them with his arms crossed. He didn’t need to feign physical tiredness in this company. He finished by saying, “From what Adam told me and from what I saw at breakfast and lunch, I think Famine made all food taste bad to Steven by default. It’s the perfect ironic curse. I can counteract it if I bless his food, but I can only do that safely if I touch the plate or the food itself right before he eats it. Also I don’t know how to cure him.”

“What do you mean by doing it safely?” Ryan asked. 

“First of all, there’s only so much power I can expend ‘frivolously’ without being audited, and blessing food I’ve come in contact with is a smaller miracle than being broader about it. And I don’t want to hurt Shane by flinging divine energy around. Also it’s not a general blessing, it has to be specifically targeted against Famine’s influence. The Horsepeople of the Apocalypse aren’t affiliated with Heaven or Hell, which means angels can’t fight them as simply as we can demons. Death is a neutral fact and the other three are dark reflections of humanity.”

“Chimps and ants fight wars too,” Shane pointed out, too flippantly for Andrew’s liking. 

Andrew gave him an unimpressed look. Something in his chest felt tight. “Thank you, Sir David Attenborough. Maybe I shouldn’t expect something like you to have empathy for any mortals outside your pair of favorites.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “We don’t actually have to help Steven, you know. I don’t dislike him, but I have very limited capacity for giving a fuck. I have a trio of mortals I care about beyond, like, amiable coexistence, by the way, which is 50% more than your estimate. A quartet if you count my cat.”

“You guys promised no celestial pissing contests in front of me.” Ryan held up a hand and added, “I know neither of you literally piss unless you think you need to make a token appearance in the men’s room for realism, shut your pedantic mouth, Shane. It’s an expression. We are going to help Steven, because first of all altruism is a thing that matters to _me_ , and second of all he’s my _friend._ Andrew, I know you’re upset, but I can’t deal with you flexing your superior holiness and wisdom and superiority or whatever right now.”

“Right, sorry.” Andrew folded his arms behind his back instead, a less stern pose. “To be on the safe side, Shane, don’t eat anything I’ve come in contact with until I give the all-clear.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Shane said, tone softened. “Steven was already cast for the next Ruining History taping, did you know that?”

“I think I heard about it, but being promoted to Senior Producer has thrown a lot of stuff at me lately.” Not that Andrew couldn’t handle the responsibilities, but it was a matter of prioritizing.

“Sara’s been humble-bragging about her promotion too,” Shane said. He and Andrew shared a small olive-branch smile. “Ryan’s agreed to pretend to be so busy that he has to drop out of that episode, and I can bring Crowley on as substitute. The historical figure we’re covering was a fancy 18th-century royal spy who did a bunch of undercover missions and presented as different genders at different times and eventually blackmailed the king to get out of being executed for treason. Up Crowley’s alley, right? I checked and the two of them never met, but Crowley was aware of the big scandal at the time. The London Stock Exchange was running a fricken’ betting pool to guess this person’s assigned gender at birth because at the time nobody knew, and we still don't know that person's preferred pronouns for sure.”

“Wasn’t that the Chevalier something something?” Andrew asked. 

“The Chevalier d’Eon. Or Chevaliere, with an extra feminine ‘e’, depending on when you’re asking. Served and later hoodwinked King Louis XV without losing the noble rank.”

“Sara offered to drop out, but I think it’d be weird to talk about a historical figure who could have been trans, non-binary, and/or intersex without having at least one female-presenting person on the panel, even if Crowley is up for outing himself as NB, ” Ryan said. 

Shane nodded. “There’s no way we can kick off Curly. We’ve been trying to get Curly onto the show for ages because he’s so quotable.”

“And it’d hurt his feelings.” Ryan didn’t sound judgmental, merely like he was alerting Shane that something had slipped his mind.

“That too.”

The three of them talked a while longer about the logistics of the visit, but Andrew eventually brought it around to the most important thing. “I can’t constantly hover around Steven without him getting creeped out and without me coming under scrutiny. I would really appreciate both of you unobtrusively watching him, too. Especially his eating habits.”

“I will,” Shane said. His phone beeped and he checked his messages. “Sara says that if nothing’s super important going on, she’s going to be back from her friend’s standup comedy gig in forty minutes and I promised to make dinner tonight.”

Andrew grinned and shook his head. “That’s way too cute, go away. Ryan, is this an okay time for me to hang back and do our weekly check-in?” Now that Ryan knew Andrew was his guardian angel, Andrew could be much more obvious about finding out how he was doing. 

“This is an okay time, but I also need to do laundry.” Ryan made puppy eyes.

Andrew threw up his hands. “Frivolous miracles.”

Ryan turned to Shane and doubled the puppy eyes. “You’re not supervised anymore.”

“I don’t even do chores with magic in my own apartment unless it’s a special occasion. Sara thinks it’s a slippery slope to me corrupting her somehow,” Shane said. “I said that I’m pretty sure if something about me was going to corrupt her, it was gonna be the sex, not the menial tasks. But relationships are about compromise.”

“Are you implying you use magic for sex?” Ryan said, falling into their familiar Unsolved banter rhythm. 

“All sex with me is magic, baby,” Shane joked back. Andrew sighed heavily.

Ryan draped himself backwards on the couch like a Victorian heroine recovering from a swoon. “Maybe I’d have more energy to do laundry if I had better mental health, and maybe I’d have better mental health if some demon hadn’t constantly manipulated and gaslighted me for three years. Just a theory.”

Shane rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. His eyes flickered to pure black for a split second. “Done. Goodnight, buckaroos.”

Andrew ended up asking Ryan permission to make dinner for _him_ , because he was going nuts and needed the distraction and wasn’t in a mood to eat. Wellington would be fine with his daddy coming home late. He now had one of those self-refill cat food dispensers and a motorized cat drinking fountain, and Andrew could pay attention to him rather than sleeping. 

(How he and Shane, on opposite sides of the Heaven-Hell divide, had both ended up being besotted with cats disconcerted him a bit. But Welly was so, so, so cute.)

“You remind me of a college friend of mine who used to do a lot of baking the week before finals,” Ryan said. He was sitting on a kitchen chair and slowly picking at the guitar he knew he wasn’t very good at. 

“I spent forty years supplying a large number of people with food six days a week, and it changed me,” Andrew said, slicing a withered bell pepper he’d found languishing in the back of the crisper. Ryan just barely had enough ingredients on hand to make a passable stir fry. 

“Did you go back to Heaven on the Sabbath?”

“Yes. I debriefed and then relaxed for a few hours. Even angels need private time where we feel safe.” Otherwise he’d roamed around the desert, keeping tabs on the tribes but otherwise quietly marveling at shrubs and lizards and everything else. He’d once spent most of a day rolling pebbles down a slope to observe gravity in action. Right now he measured out cooking oil with much less wonder, but still a touch of the focus. 

Ryan strummed easy chords for a few minutes before speaking up again. “Don’t tell Shane I said this.”

“I don’t tell anyone on Earth anything you say to me in private,” Andrew said, not taking his eyes off the medley he was stirring. 

“Shane’s the one who got the Buzzfeed execs to offer Steven a bonus to come back here. I don’t know how. I’m not sure I want to know how, but I know he wanted to make you happy.”

Andrew paused. His face felt hot. “Oh. I didn’t. Um. I didn’t expect that.”

“You saved his life, dude.”

“He only got attacked by another demon because he was protecting you, so it was part of my job.” Andrew added more salt. 

“You were terrified of getting in trouble, so I doubt it.” Ryan put his guitar aside and got up to grab dishes. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything?”

“I’m sure. Enough about me, tell me about you.”

Andrew sat across from Ryan as Ryan ate and talked about himself. Ideally, after the things he’d gone through, Ryan would have been able to see a therapist and be totally honest without being misdiagnosed as delusional. He would have benefited from that. At least Andrew could give him an hour at some point each week to talk to someone who not only knew everything he talked about was real, but could take everything Ryan said calmly and not personally. There were times where Ryan’s closeness with Shane worked against opening up to him instead of making it easier. There was also that tiny fragment of Ryan that still felt hurt at Shane’s deception. Not that Shane wasn’t a positive force in Ryan’s life and a big help in maintaining stability. It was clear he was.

Then Ryan said, “I can’t finish all this. Maybe pack up the rest and bless it and give it to Steven tomorrow.”

“Good idea.”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask.”

Ryan took a sip of water first as if bracing himself. “I know falling in love and feeling lust aren’t common for angels and demons, unless you count demons who use lust for work purposes. I know it’s possible, because Aziraphale and Crowley are so in love it hurts my teeth to think about and they aren’t as good at hiding their mutual thirst as they think they are. And I know it’s possible for a person not be in love or in lust but to be comfortable and domestic with a partner they like, the way billions of humans have always been and like Shane is.”

Soon after being outed as a demon, Shane had come to Andrew asking for information about how safe it was for Shane to turn his relationship with Sara from open and sexless, to open and having sex because it was something she liked and he enjoyed supporting her interests. Andrew had wanted to reach for the brain bleach, but he felt some responsibility for keeping humans safe from Shane, so he had discreetly double-checked Heaven’s policies for Sara’s sake.

(The rules, in brief, were that only married-or-equivalent-under-circumstances sex was virtuous. However, sex was not necessarily a vice if someone had enough enough love for others to seek one’s consenting adult partner’s pleasure and with no intent to distress anyone else. From Heaven’s perspective, even a consenting adult demon fell in this category. From Hell’s perspective, certain bargains pertaining to Shane’s new freedom made the point moot in Sara’s case.)

But it sounded like this was all a preamble. Andrew already had some idea where this was going, but he asked anyway to hurry Ryan along.

“How do you really feel about Steven? You can say ‘no comment’. And this is strictly between us.” 

There it was. Andrew’s face felt hot again. “I haven’t tried to put that into words before.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Maybe it would do me good if I did.” Andrew braced his elbows on the tabletop, clasped his hands, and leaned forward. “You’ve watched enough Worth It to tease us about it.”

“You look at him like _he_ hung the moon and stars, not your people,” Ryan said.

Andrew’s mouth twisted. “Crowley gave me a fond and friendly lecture about being so transparent. Not because it’s bad but because it’s dangerous. I’m not like Shane in, you know, numerous ways, but one of them is that he’s an iceberg when it comes to how much he loves you and Sara in whatever way he does.”

“Also Jen - I think when you were sniping at each other that’s who he was implying. Sara’s his girlfriend, I’m his ghoulfriend, Jen’s his little sister, Crowley’s his big brother, Aziraphale’s his in-law, you’re his frenemy, and Obi’s his baby. That’s all his genuine affection slots filled up, which Crowley says is a super impressive high number of slots for a demon. He admitted he’d only save my girlfriend from a fire because I’d want him to, but he’s nice to her on double dates and I won't ask a chicken to swim or a duck to cluck.” Ryan waved his spoon. “Anyway, getting sidetracked.”

“What I was going for is that what you’ve seen me do with Steven is all I want to do with him, and all my feelings for him have been shown to the world. I just want to do them more, as long as I can. That’s a ‘super impressive high’ amount of desire for intimacy for an angel. The only thing I haven’t done with him that I want to be able to do is be honest. I’ll settle for everything else.”

Walking with him, talking with him, laughing and eating and traveling and working, ice skating and playing in snow and on the shore, and all those times he draped an arm over Andrew. Only that. Was it really so much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written a ton of Modern AU fic for the Chevalier d'Eon. Such an icon.


	5. Chapter 5

_Again, Steven had the dream of Andrew attacking someone with a meat cleaver. Except this time there was sound as well as images. The victim - again, not really visible thanks to those whirling white wings - was making horrible squealing sounds, the sounds something being butchered makes rather than someone being murdered._

_“Why are you fighting?” Steven whispered._

_Somehow hearing him, Andrew turned. Face blank. Blood on his shirt. “I’m not a fighter. This is responsible trash removal.” Then he went for the final blow…_

***

The alarm went off, and Steven saw that it was six o’clock. Everything felt vaguely dreamlike, but he wanted to shower and dress before making use of the complimentary instant coffee packets the hotel had provided, and it was his own fault for taking so long to settle down last night anyway. Everything was so beige in here. At least the blue carpet was soft under his feet.

His stomach hurt, the way it did when he had too much dairy, and attempts to, ahem, accomplish much on the toilet didn’t go well. He’d try again later. He showered and noticed how smooth and creamy the bar of soap looked, reminding him of big pale lump of butter. He didn’t do anything with this observation. He didn’t think much of this observation. He had it for a moment, then it left.

Steven’s tube of toothpaste was sadly flat and nearly used up, but he found himself squeezing far more onto his toothbrush than he needed. The taste was different now. Still mint, but a more complex mint, almost meaty. Didn’t British people put mint jelly on lamb? He remembered that from some BBC show. He brushed his teeth a second time, even more generous with the toothpaste. A significant amount went down his throat and this did not distress him.

Maybe he was _still_ dreaming. He liked this dream better.

Steven’s phone rang while he was nearly done fixing his hair. He grabbed it with the hand that was the least slick with mousse. “Hello?”

“Morning,” Andrew said. “I just picked up a bunch of apology pastries for the Worth It crew and I’m actually pretty close to your hotel. Want a ride to work?”

“Yeah, sure, thanks. Though can we get coffee on the way? I only have stuff that makes Nescafe look luxurious.” Despite his lingering unease, Steven was happy to start his day with his friend. Dreams were only dreams.

“No problem. See you in ten.”

The sun was a lot brighter and warmer at seven AM in October here than it was in New York, but Steven felt chilly anyway and zipped up his jacket while walking to Andrew’s car. “I still owe Adam, like, nine hundred cinnamon rolls,” Steven said as he got in.

“You’re the one who decided to offer him a thousand of them for finishing chicken that was too spicy for you,” Andrew said. He handed Steven a breakfast burrito without a word of explanation and pulled out of the parking space.

Steven hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the first bite, and then he wolfed it down like he didn’t expect to get to eat anything for the rest of the day, when he knew that they were visiting their backup restaurant this afternoon. Andrew kept taking his eyes off the road to glance at him. “What?”

“You look like you didn’t sleep too well,” Andrew said.

“Sucky mattress, what can you do?” Steven didn’t know why he lied, other than the inherent embarrassment at admitting to have consumed the edible box that came with a takeout order and tossed away the normal food.

They stopped at a local cafe rather than a Starbucks. Both of them went to chains a lot less these days. There wasn’t real parking available, so Steven told Andrew to wait in the car and Steven would run and get something uncomplicated.

“We could go somewhere else,” Andrew said, looking oddly anxious.

“Let’s not waste our time, especially since you’re not getting anything,” Steven said.

The line was short and Steven got his soy latte without much of a wait. He took a sip of it while still standing at the counter to see whether he should take an additional sugar packet for the road. The taste was so rancid and foul that he not only spit it out but chucked his cup away like it was full of live cockroaches. The latte splattered everywhere.

Cue record scratch. Metaphorically. The barista was staring at him. The customers were staring at him. Steven wanted to sink down into the floor, never to be seen again.

“It was, uh, it was, like, um, really hot, sorry,” Steven mumbled. He flung five bucks into the direction of the tip jar and sprinted out of there.

“What happened?” Andrew asked.

“I, like, got recognized by fans? Intense fans. I didn’t want to deal with it. There’s free coffee at work.” Steven shrugged. Normally he’d tell Andrew something like this, no hesitation, but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding at a frantic pace until Andrew seemed to accept the lie.

“Fans can cross the line sometimes, definitely.” When Steven didn’t reply, Andrew put on NPR Classical and softly hummed along to Tchaikovsky for the rest of the commute.

Steven had some time to set up his new workstation next to Andrew and Adam, and within easy sight of Shane and Ryan. His designated desktop computer was covered in cards and post-its welcoming him back, and there was even a yellow rose in a vase.

“Yellow roses are for friendship,” Adam said, swiveling his office chair around.

“Is that an admission of guilt?” Steven joked, feeling warm and awake for the first time today.

Adam shook his head. “He’s not as stealthy as he thinks he is.” He pointed at Ryan, who was too busy discussing something with Sara and Shane to notice. The sight of Shane behind Sara with one arm loosely wrapped around her waist, his chin less than an inch away from resting on the top of her head, made Steven feel things that he thought he was done feeling by now. He didn’t remember Shane being this cuddly before and tried not to resent him for it.

“Aw,” Steven said, focusing on Ryan’s niceness. Ryan was such great guy. (Even having the good taste to have a new girlfriend who didn’t work here, which helped Steven cope with how super pretty she was in all their super happy Instagram photos!) Steven had to remove some of the post-its to see the screen, and he folded them in half and slipped them into a jacket pocket in order to boost his mood later. He was afraid this show of welcome wouldn’t be enough to make this a good day.

***

The restaurant served only raw food, but very fancy and advanced raw food recipes. Andrew was only willing to do it when Steven assured him that the proprietors did not advocate only eating raw food for your entire life, but thought it was beneficial to increase the proportion of raw food in your diet for...reasons. Steven didn’t focus very well during Andrew’s usual interview of the restaurant owner. He’d never gotten around to trying another cup of coffee.

“I’ll let you try it first,” Steven said, gesturing at the ceviche platter, side salad, and bowl of chilled soup they were sharing.

Andrew did, describing the taste and texture as poetically as always. He also smoothed his hands over the handmade plates and bowls while praising their craftsmanship. Steven didn’t remember what he said about it, but the meal was good, and Adam and Annie enjoyed their portions. They wrapped up within their projected time and Steven felt almost comfortably full on the trip back. His stomach had never quite stopped hurting, and his bathroom breaks had never quite gotten as far as he’d like.

Adam was driving, since Andrew had driven on the way there and had wanted to try one of the specialty cocktails at the restaurant. Annie was in the passenger seat because it was her turn. So Andrew and Steven were in the backseat, with Andrew watching Steven like he thought Steven was going to crumble into crumbly crumbs.

“I know the other two A’s in this car have plans, but do you want to get dinner tonight?’ Andrew asked. “I have leftovers at home, but we could also go somewhere, maybe somewhere quiet and casual -”

Something ugly coiled in Steven’s gut, and Steven snapped, “Could you please stop smothering me?”

“Whoa..." Annie twisted around to look at them.

Steven cringed and looked out the window. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really tired, and I’m doing my first episode of Ruining History tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” Andrew said, monotone.

“You’re not, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

Steven laughed nervously. “Why would I do that?”

After a long silence in which Steven continued to stare out the window like he’d never seen a freeway before, Andrew said, “Steven, I never fully...conveyed...how much I seriously missed you.”

“Me neither,” Steven said. He meant it. He’d told Andrew he missed him, yet he’d never conveyed how deep that ran. But right now he couldn’t look at him.

***

The Uber driver who took Steven home let him run into a pharmacy/convenience store for a few minutes before taking him to the hotel. Steven picked up a pack of nutrition shakes, and a box of laxatives, and impulsively grabbed a bag of gummy worms for childhood nostalgia reasons.

He ordered dinner, but he didn’t have much confidence anymore than it was going to go well. He had a few gummy worms while he waited. Wait, these were rubber bands. No wonder they were chewy. He didn’t want to waste what was already in his mouth. That seemed logical. Didn’t it?

As he thought might happen, the dinner he ordered tasted like rotting garbage, and he didn’t understand why. Was it something about eating alone? Had he become allergic to eating alone? Was this some rare psychological condition that happens when you shouldn’t have a broken heart anymore and you’re trying to reset your life to how it had once been but knew deep down that it didn’t work that way so you were relying on a specific friend of yours as a human crutch to feel properly alive except that friend was freaking you out at the moment?

He thought about seeing a doctor, but his heart started pounding at the thought and the world got wavy and he felt cold, so cold, and by the time he decided no, he wouldn’t, he was curled up in a ball on the floor. His stomach hurt.

Two hours had passed since he started panicking, according to the clock. That didn’t seem right, but clocks were clocks. He choked down a nutrition shake to try to be a responsible citizen of his own body. He was hungry. More hungry. So hungry. By midnight, he had eaten all the rubber bands, two paper towels, several thin strips of aluminum foil from the takeout rolled up into safer pellets, and was scooping handfuls of dirt into his mouth courtesy of the potted plant he’d taken from the balcony. They were all delicious. He was dimly aware that he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that help is coming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic emetophobia warning.

Instead of looking after Steven like he wanted to be doing, Andrew ended up at Jen’s place and made adorable chicken pot pies scored with what looked like a pair of chicken footprints. He brought his own ingredients but allowed Jen to play sous chef. She was doing pretty well but kept checking the clock. 

"I turned on my perfect sense of time, so you can relax," Andrew said after the umpteenth occurrence. He didn't leave that sense on constantly because it could become distracting.

She kept washing the last of the dishes but raised one eyebrow. "Sometimes I think you and Shane make up new random superpowers just to fuck with me and Sara. He said he can tell when pictures are photoshopped."

"Sounds like something he'd try. For the record, that's not something I can do. Detect photoshopping, I mean. I've spent enough time on Earth to learn how to prank." Andrew peeked through the oven window to make sure the pastry was browning as it should.

"How much time?"

He decided there was no harm in her knowing. "If you put all my missions together, about two hundred and thirty years, I think. Aziraphale's got me beat by a considerable margin."

"Hey, that's more than any human so far." Jen finished cleanup and headed for the fridge. "I bought a six-pack of Angry Orchard hard cider. It's meant for our guests as a joke, because of their Eden meet-cute, but I feel like cracking one open. Want one?"

"I need alcohol to cope with you referring to that business as a 'meet-cute'. No glass needed." Andrew caught the bottle she tossed at him. The fermented apple taste was smoother than he'd expected. 

Jen poured a small portion into clear plastic tumbler and hopped up to perch on the newly wiped counter. "I only tease you because I think you like us treating you the same as before we knew."

"You are correct." But Jen wasn't particularly religious, merely very open-minded and a touch gifted. What would Steven think of Andrew if he ever found out? 

"You okay? Do you not like the cider? Anathema's been trying to teach me over FaceTime how to read auras, but non-human ones are hard." Jen was the only one of the BuzzFeed gang to have gotten to know Aziraphale and Crowley's witch friend very well. It was good that she had a mentor who was a good person. Natural gifts for magic weren't evil by themselves, but made bad people worse. 

Andrew drank some more to show his appreciation. "Can you offer to pick up Steven tomorrow? I don't want to appear too concerned." Steven’s protest in the van had been like a slap to the face, even if Steven probably didn’t mean it like it had come out sounding.

"Sure." She fired off a text, then looked at the clock again.

Squaring his shoulders, Andrew said, "You haven't shown me your room there yet." 

“Okay! It’s not much to look at, though.” Jen got down from the counter, took the Nice and Accurate Knife out of her pocket, and unfolded the tiny blade from the handle. She stepped over to the middle of the living room and bent down to begin cutting a doorway in midair. Smoothly, she slid the knife upwards, across for the top, and then down again. “C’mon, it’ll close in a minute.”

Andrew followed her through the gap and found himself in a dark, quiet space. Jen felt around for a light switch and flicked it on. The warm yellow overhead illumination showed that they were in a spacious attic with a set of stairs and an open door to a tiny bathroom next to each other on one side. The other side had a mattress on the floor covered in fluffy blankets, a low table with a lamp on it, and a big sign saying JEN’S LOFT with a string of colored lights.

The thing was, the Nice and Accurate Knife didn’t work exactly like the Subtle Knife in the _His Dark Materials_ series, though close enough to partly inspire the name (“nice” and “subtle” had archaic meanings that were similar). That plus a book of now-expired "nice and accurate" prophecies belonging to Anathema’s family. The Nice and Accurate Knife didn’t come with any side effects, but it could only cut a doorway to a place that whoever was wielding the knife owned.

Jen had eventually asked if Aziraphale could draw up a legal document saying she was a tenant of the unused loft space above his bookshop, which she could reinforce by sleeping there from time to time. That way the California-based members of their group and the England-based ones could have a shortcut to visit each other. Lo and behold, it had worked.

“When they’re gonna be back in London, they let me know and sometimes I come over for the weekend. They made the bathroom for me, since Aziraphale doesn’t have one downstairs. It’s like having a new pair of queer uncles to hang out with. I have more fun with Crowley, though. Does that say anything about me?”

Andrew had a momentary vision of Jen dressed in Crowley’s style, including sunglasses, and them attending an indie rock concert in which he’d have to hoist her petite self on his shoulders for her to see the stage. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. “I think you share more interests with him, that’s all. There’s nothing particularly demonic about you.”

“Good to hear that.” She spun the knife between her fingers like it was one of the fidget toys she used to channel her ADHD energy. “I’d make so much money with this knife.”

“You know my orders are that I’d have to confiscate all of your special knives and turn them back into ordinary ones if you tried to publicize it or profit from any of them.”

Jen waved dismissively with her free hand. “Yeah, I know, just thinking aloud. Personal use is still awesome, don’t get me wrong.”

Andrew gave her a thumbs-up. “Anyway, I think I hear them.”

Crowley emerged first, carrying a black leather duffle bag. “Hello, let yourselves in, did you?”

“I will allow you permission to enter my space,” Jen said, turning up her nose. He grinned and gave her a bear hug that lifted her an inch off the floor.

Aziraphale’s tartan-pattern rolling suitcase appeared next to him when he reached the top of the stairs. He smiled when he saw Andrew, but it turned into a more worried expression.

“What?” Andrew asked, though he knew. Aziraphale could see through him in ways none of his other friends on Earth could. Crowley might have been able to pick up on Andrew’s inner state if he cared to do so and if Andrew let him, but not with such effortlessness. 

“It’s been a few thousand years since I’ve seen you thinking so poorly of yourself,” Aziraphale said softly.

Andrew didn’t decide to cling to Aziraphale for five full seconds. It happened on its own. But then he pulled away. “Let’s have drinks at Jen’s place and then I can drive you to your hotel.” The group had weighed the pros and cons of Aziraphale and Crowley staying at the same hotel as Steven, but had decided that would be overkill and might come across as creepy. Besides, the pair had developed a fondness for luxury.

“I’m going to be on YouTube tomorrow!” Crowley exulted.

“Uh, more like in a few weeks at minimum because editing is a beast,” Jen said. She started cutting another doorway. “But filming for the first time is exciting. Y’all are lucky you don’t need to sleep, because I’m going to have to kick everyone out in an hour.”

“And you can introduce me to your Steven after work when Crowley offers to buy a round for all the stars of the episode,” Aziraphale said in a soothing voice. Andrew thought about disputing the use of “your”, but opted to help Aziraphale with his luggage and keep his own exterior stoic.

***

The next morning, Andrew got to the office early, too jittery to want to hang around alone at home any longer. Ever-diligent Adam was there, but few of their colleagues had arrived yet, and Andrew offered to get coffee for him from this floor’s break room just to have a concrete way to help someone right now. He fixed himself a mug full of herbal tea in the hopes of it calming him, and ate an admittedly delicious muffin from the heap someone had left out for everyone to enjoy. 

Then Shane wandered in. He looked much more serious than his default. “Hey, I need you to stay calm…”

“That’s a really great phrase to say if you want it to be hard for me to stay calm.”

Shane talked fast. “Steven called me to apologize and say he’s too sick to make it to the shoot. I told him it’s okay and we can have Ryan drop that video he was going to make with Jen today so that Crowley fills out Steven’s spot on the panel instead of Ryan’s. Steven can do an episode in the future. Already got the okay from Ryan. Jen said that’s fine and she’s going to check on Steven rather than give him a ride.”

Andrew shoved the mugs into Shane’s hands without another word and started texting Jen. She replied to his inquiries with: _You told me which room he’s in but he’s not answering door I can use my all-cutting knife to open and my un-cutting knife to repair?_

_Yes_

He made it back to his workstation. Adam gave him an odd look but didn’t say anything. Jen gave Andrew the infamous “Read” and “...” combination for two whole minutes.

Then: _hes throwing up alot hes in pain i thnk delirious? hospital or you???_

_ME!_

Andrew couldn’t run off with no explanation now that several people had seen him arrive. There were other things to consider when it came to protecting both Steven and himself from questions. Another thing he considered was that he’d never vomited in his life. He urinated a few times a week during the workday in order to be seen at the urinals by his male human associates in a normal fashion. Otherwise he kept all his food and liquid intake in his stomach until the feeling of fullness stopped being a pleasant epilogue to the act of consumption, and then broke all of it into particles he allowed to slip between and through the atoms making up his mortal shell.

But he also had perfect control over his body unless he chose to put systems on human-style autopilot. For example, by default he let his body feel pain, because that was an important warning system to keep from damaging it and wasting miracles repairing preventable injuries. He turned off his own pain sensors when the pain was providing no useful information, like during the time between receiving an injury and fully healing himself. 

This was all to say that Andrew realized both him and Steven coming down with the same illness would surprise nobody, and even though he had never done anything like it before, it was simple for Andrew to trigger emesis in himself with no external cue. 

“I don’t feel so good,” Andrew said, doing his best imitation of a nauseated person for the benefit of Adam and all other witnesses. He grabbed a trash can “in the nick of time”.

******

Steven was proud of himself for crawling over to his phone and calling Shane before another wave of vomiting hit him. He decided that Shane could tell other people. By now he felt wrung-out and weak and his guts were swollen and hurting and still, somehow, still hungry. He curled up on the cool tiles once he seemed to be done for now and closed his eyes. His whole lower torso felt like he’d poured a bunch of wet concrete down his gullet and it was almost ready to set. Ready to turn his insides to a statue like those molds of people who died in Pompeii. 

“Oh shit, Steven,” someone said.

“Mm.”

“Steven?” A hand felt his forehead. “It’s Jen. Can you hear me? Look at me?”

Steven opened one eye. “Hey.” She was one of the better people to be here. His mom would be his top pick, but his mom was in Ohio. 

“What happened?”

“Hungry. Sorry. I tried not to.”

Her gaze fell on a spot where he hadn’t aimed well enough, to his shame. “Is that fucking _plastic_?”

“Sorry. It really hurts.” He tugged at her soft shirt. At the hem, in a gentlemanly way, to get her attention as he babbled. “I had a dream about a big wheel in a wheel with other wheels in the sky, right? And these outlines that looked like wings made of fire maybe, and there were lots of eyes, and I was scared of it because it was so big, bigger than the moon, but the eyes all looked at me and whatever that thing was said ‘wish I could tell you’. Then I woke up and I’d eaten stuffing from the pillow. Isn’t that funny?”

“Uh, it’s important to have a sense of humor.” Jen settled onto the floor and gently ran her fingers through his hair while texting someone. Her fingers felt nice.

He'd used up his talking energy. “Pain.”

Jen finished the text and put her phone away. She kept touching his hair but also held his hand. “We’re going to get you help. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

Then the lights flickered and something smelled like the ocean, not like the shore but the deep, deep ocean if you could breathe it without drowning. And Andrew was standing next to Jen. It seemed like she nearly fell over despite being on the floor already, she was so startled. “Jesus fuck!”/p>

“Well, I never asked him about his personal life,” Andrew said, sounding distracted. He was taking in the whole scene and his face was so very blank.

She shuffled aside to give him room, though still holding Steven’s hand. “Sorry, I didn’t know you could appear like that.”

“Not supposed to. But Steven’s too important.” He got down on his knees and put a hand flat on Steven’s stomach, even as Steven whined and instinctively tried to roll up even more to protect it. 

“I can’t.” Steven didn’t have a specific inability in mind. There was a lot he couldn’t. “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on and I can’t.”

“Don’t be afraid.” Andrew put his other hand on Steven’s forehead, but vertically with his fingers cupping Steven’s skull, instead of Jen’s horizontal fever-checking touch. His skin was cool and his voice was warm. “I need you to trust me, Steven Kwo Wey Lim. I need you to have faith.”

Steven thought about that massive wheel within the wheel and the eyes, and he remembered the book of Ezekiel and what that prophet described. 

Jen was surprised to see Andrew here. 

Andrew’s irises had now turned the color of honey. 

And Steven knew what kind of creature, what sort of being, was famous for starting off an important message with some variation on _fear not_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through Steven's Instagram for characterization research really drove home to me how cute he and Jen are as friends. There's even a picture of them celebrating their transition from interns to real Buzzfeed employees.


	7. Chapter 7

“I have faith in you,” Steven said, quietly but sincerely.

Andrew looked like someone had given him a birthday present that was way too expensive, like a Ferrari. It took him a moment to regain speech. “Okay. That’s, uh, that’s good, that’ll make it easier. I’d rather take you home to do this, where I’ve put up wards to make it harder for other people far away to sense when I, like, do stuff. This sort of stuff.”

When Andrew tried to gather Steven up in his arms, though, stabbing sensations rocked through Steven’s stomach and intestines and he cried out, crushing Jen’s hand in his. “Can you fix him here?” Jen asked.

“I can heal the immediate problem.” Andrew rested his right palm flat on Steven’s stomach and cradled the back of Steven's head with his left hand. 

The pain faded by degrees like water being drained out of a bathtub. Steven still felt weak, but it was a relief like he’d never known before. “Andrew, you’re really, all this time you’ve really been an -”

“Not here,” Andrew interrupted.

Jen let go of Steven’s hand and took a small folding knife out of her pocket. Andrew gestured for Jen to sit and carefully deposited Steven’s head in Jen’s lap, as if it would be unacceptable to let his head touch the bathroom floor. Then Andrew took the knife. He turned around and stabbed the knife into midair.

“What’s he doing?” Steven asked. 

She petted his hair some more. “Some of my possessions end up being magical. It’s complicated. That knife can make shortcuts to a place the user owns. Hey, Andrew, how else can I help?”

“Pack up Steven’s stuff, if Steven is okay with that, and call room service on your way out so someone can come clean up. Tell Aziraphale what happened and that I could really use a hand. Nobody else until I’ve had more time to think. Then bring his luggage to my apartment, and if Aziraphale wants a ride there than please give him one.” Andrew answered. He wasn’t crouched on the floor any longer. Steven wanted to sit up to see what he was doing now, but that felt like too much effort. 

“That’s fine,” Steven said, mind reeling at the name _Aziraphale_ , which sounded super angelic if ever a name did. 

This time Andrew was able to pick Steven up without hurting him. Bridal style. The Internet would go nuts over it if they saw them like this, especially given that Steven was wearing nothing but boxers and an old frayed hoodie. Steven held on to Andrew for the few steps it took for Andrew to get them from the hotel bathroom to Andrew’s own bedroom. 

“Good luck, see you soon dudes,” Jen called after them. The space they’d walked through sealed itself back up.

Andrew lowered Steven onto a perfectly made twin-size bed with white sheets, one white pillow, and two goldenrod accent pillows. Steven had been at Andrew’s place before but not the bedroom. The ceiling was a dark indigo like the sky right after sunset, the carpet a slightly lighter blue, and the walls were a warm cream color rather than stark white. A big bookcase took up one wall. Steven hadn’t had time to put in contacts and hadn’t brought his glasses, so he couldn’t see the titles, but they were a mix of fancy leather-bound tomes and cheap paperbacks. The windows were tall and bright and currently open, as today’s weather was as perfect as October in LA could be. Wellington was on top of one of those multi-story cat towers napping in the sunshine coming through them. There was both a large desk housing a desktop computer similar to what they used at work, along with a pot of African violets. There was also a smaller, antique writing desk in a corner. 

“Get in there,” Andrew said, firmly but gently as he pulled back the covers. He tucked Steven in. 

“I’ve always believed in angels, but I never thought I’d had my own guardian angel all along,” Steven said. Though if he’d had to pick one of his friends to suspect of secretly being one, Andrew would have been in the top five. 

Something very fond yet very, very sad flickered across Andrew’s face. “I’d love to be your guardian angel, but I’m not.”

“But there’s no way you’re not an angel! It’s the only explanation that makes all of this makes sense unless you count me dreaming or hallucinating.”

“That’s not the part I was denying. You see, see, what happened was I got distracted. Again. I...” Andrew put a hand over his own mouth for a second. “There’s a lot I can’t say. I wish I could. Rest here and I’m going to put together some easy-to-digest food and drink for you. Would you rather more of a Western broth plus dry toast on the side, or would you like rice porridge? They’re equally easy for me to make. Twenty minutes maximum.”

“Congee?” That’s what Steven’s mom always made him when he was sick, though how the heck anyone could possibly do a good job in twenty minutes from scratch had to involve magic. 

“Sure. Do you need me to get Wellington out of here?”

“He’s not bothering me,” Steven said. There was something soothing about watching a cat curled up and having a nice nap. “Leave the curtains open, please.”

Andrew nodded and left.

For the first little while, Steven just lay there and thought about what Andrew said. He had denied being Steven’s guardian angel, but denied denying that he was an angel. Which meant that he was an angel, but not Steven’s guardian angel. Steven frowned at the thought that maybe he was distracting Andrew from something else he was supposed to be doing. 

That feeling passed as a much more unpleasant feeling resurfaced. Steven was hungry again. His eyes strayed to Andrew’s computer desk. 

_No. Wait. Andrew’s making me something, and I’ve always liked what Andrew gives me. Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it stop it._

When Andrew returned, Steven was sitting in Andrew’s office chair and had just chewed and swallowed a handful of dirt from Andrew’s pot of African violets. The craving to eat something in this room had become unbearable and Steven had tried to pick something that would harm him and Andrew’s property as little as possible. He didn’t notice Andrew opening the door, but it was hard not to notice the crash of the tray Andrew had been carrying. Steven froze, but there was no way to hide what he’d done. 

The panic Steven had felt swelling within him whenever the considered telling Andrew (or a doctor) what was wrong now burst. He couldn’t breathe, except for somehow being able to draw enough air to sob, drawing up his knees as he continued to sit in the chair so he could have something to hug.

But now Andrew was hugging him tight and rubbing his back. His tone was comforting but his words sounded desperate. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Steven, it’s my fault. I thought it was only a loss of appetite plus digestion problems, I didn’t know the sadistic bastard gave you a horrific version of pica.”

“Is that contagious?” Steven asked between undignified sad noises.

“It’s a general term for the compulsion to eat something that isn’t food,” Andrew said. “So, no.”

“DISEASE FACT.” Steven switched to giggling, but then he was giggling and crying at the same time, and then the difficulty breathing got to the point where he was having trouble making any noise at all no matter what Andrew said. 

“Fuck it, I’m done holding back,” Andrew muttered after a few minutes of this.

Then they were suddenly both on the bed, which was wider now and back to a perfectly made state, and Andrew was lying next to Steven and outright spooning him on top of the covers. Whatever vibe that might have given under normal circumstances was completely overruled by the fact that the spooning included _an enormous white-feathered wing_ covering Steven like a soft tickly blanket. 

“Oh wow,” Steven said. What else could he say?

“I couldn’t let you keep freaking out that much, because I was pretty close to freaking out and you don’t want to see me freak out.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

“You’ve seen me in moments of moderate consternation.” Andrew cleared his throat. “Uh, I hope this is okay. My top priority was to startle you out of that loop, but maybe I should have asked your consent to this level of -”

Steven didn’t want Andrew to move a muscle. “We’ve been touchy-feely for years. Plus I cuddled Zach Kornfeld when we were testing a luxury mattress for a Lifestyle video.”

“Apples and oranges. Zach is a notorious cuddler; he even puts it in his Instagram bio.”

“I’m still processing the fact that I’ve upgraded to angel cuddles, but I want to stay like this.” Steven tried to twist around to look at Andrew. “Where’s the other wing? Do you have another one?”

“I only manifested one to keep things simple. You should eat and drink something wholesome now.”

“I want to stay like this a bit longer.” Steven never thought someone could get pouty with an angel, but this wasn’t An Angel, this was Andrew Who Had Turned Out to Be an Angel. Big difference.

“Ten minutes max,” Andrew said, sounding very parental for a second. “Hold still while I get that dirt out of you and back into the pot.”

Before Steven’s eyes, the potted plant went back to looking exactly as it had a few minutes ago, and the tray Andrew had dropped now appeared in pristine condition on the nightstand. 

“That’s so cool,” Steven said.

Andrew shifted the arm lightly draped around Steven’s waist. “I try not to rely on that sort of thing too much. I’m supposed to be undercover.”

“Do you know how this happened to me? It sounded like you did.” Wellington had woken up and was glaring at Steven like he blamed Steven for all the commotion. Which was fair. 

“Everything I told you about Dr. Sable was true. I’m not supposed to tell you that he’s also evil and immortal and can curse people.” Andrew sighed. “I can bless food so that you can still enjoy eating it, but the other aspects are complicated. Aziraphale’s got more experience helping humans directly than I have. With luck he’ll be here soon.”

Steven ended up getting most of the congee eaten before Aziraphale and Jen arrived. He was a bit sad that Andrew put his wing...away...somewhere...when they weren’t cuddling anymore, but Andrew seemed really tense talking about angel stuff. If he hadn’t been - and if Steven weren’t still so shaken up - Steven would have risked asking a few of the many questions swirling around his brain. 

Then the doorbell rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a lot of time thinking how Steven's initial reactions were going to play out. I eventually decided that right now he's too sick and overwhelmed to really get the full force of it and is seeking out whatever comfort he can find. Mostly treating Andrew as the friend he's always known is also easier to deal with. Plus, having already believed in literal angels literally helping humans on a personal and regular basis, Steven's got less surprise to get over than someone else might. Nothing Andrew has said or done has challenged his fundamental beliefs so far. 
> 
> (It would have been much harder for Steven if Shane had revealed himself under the same circumstances, even in the context of trying to help. That would have blown his mind in a bad way.)


	8. Chapter 8

Andrew didn’t want to take his eyes off Steven, but there was a very slight possibility that his earlier miracling in an uncontained area might have attracted demons other than the two he was friendly with. Tensions between Heaven and Hell’s field agents had gone up now that the two biggest players had technically been taken off the board. Shouting for surprise demons to simply come in would negate the protective wards Andrew had set up. He needed to answer the door in person.

“Sorry, this is just until someone’s watching you again,” Andrew said, referring to the handcuff that now blinked into existence around left-handed Steven’s left wrist, shackling him to a newly manifested horizontal bar attached to the wall. Handcuffing him to the headboard of the bed itself would have been possible, but a potentially awkward sight in ways that Andrew was not naive towards. He didn’t stick around to see Steven’s reaction.

Thankfully only Aziraphale and Jen were on Andrew’s doorstep. The moment they were safely inside, Andrew said without preamble, “I got some nourishment into Steven but he started eating dirt the moment my back was turned.”

Jen winced. “When he was babbling at me in the bathroom he said he ate pillow stuffing.”

“He got a panic attack instead of being able to give me an explanation, so maybe you should be the one to talk to him.” Whether it was because Andrew was an angel, Jen had been friends with Steven longer, or this was some other surprisr power of hers, Andrew simply jabbed his thumb in the direction of the bedroom. Jen ran off.

Aziraphale set Steven’s suitcase and backpack out of the way beside the couch. “Is being businesslike helping you feel better?”

Andrew took a deep breath and kneaded his own shoulders, where tension had gathered. “Not enough. I don’t like problems that I can’t fix and I don’t like when they’re -”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I don’t like when they’re worse because of me.”

Aziraphale spread his hands in concession. “I’m the last person to judge you for it. The first time _I_ became overly protective of anyone I wasn’t supposed to be focused on protecting, I might have accidentally provided humanity with the first murder weapon, and definitely contributed to War’s eventual form.”

“Wait, what?”

But then Jen called out, “Dude, were you planning on ever letting Steven loose?”

“Sorry, there should be a key in your hand now!” Andrew shouted back. He couldn’t look Aziraphale in the face. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

Aziraphale put a warm hand on his shoulder. “I’ll give whatever insight I can.”

****

Nobody else is here at the chapel of the Cincinnati Chinese Church, but that’s okay. The other members of Steven’s youth group will be here soon and he can just sit and chill out until they do. It’s cold outside and cozy in here. Hushed. Light streaming through the windows.

A middle-aged white guy in an old-fashioned cream and light brown suit with a waistcoat comes up the aisle and sits next to Steven. He has kind eyes, and is familiar. “Is this a better setting?”

Steven clears his throat. “We were, we were talking earlier. You and me.”

“You became rather distressed. I suggested you choose the venue you found most comfortable for continuing the conversation.”

“This church raised me,” Steven says, unbuttoning his jacket. It’s a more expensive designer jacket than he should be able to buy himself at this age, but he doesn’t worry about it. 

“I can feel the love you have for it,” the man says. (No, not a man. A-z something. Not _a zebra_ , that’s dumb.) “Do you remember what I asked you?”

The pulpit is no longer there, replaced by a movie screen that has a cross sort of floating in front of it near the top, and this is odd but Steven continues to have dream-logic and accepts it. “You asked what I ate.”

“Yes.”

“And how it feels if I try to stop.”

“Indeed. Would you like to try again?”

Steven does, and he feels unease at the back of his mind and a twist in his gut, but he tells this person everything anyway.

“Well done. Have you noticed anything else odd?”

A moving image appears on the screen like an enormous silent gif. Steven points at it. “I’ve dreamed that twice. I don’t know what it means.”

“You’re going to have to describe it to me, dear boy, I can’t actually see what you’re seeing right now.”

“Uh, it’s Andrew killing someone with a meat cleaver, and he doesn’t even look upset about it? Also he has wings, but I just found out Andrew’s an angel so that part’s not as weird as it was. Not to say that this whole thing isn’t, like, surprising.”

Andrew’s disembodied voice appeared out of nowhere. “Shit. Steven, however you saw that, I wasn’t killing anyone. I promise. I never wanted you to see me like that.”

“I’m doing the talking now, please,” Aziraphale said. Steven remembered now. “You can’t kill a demon by destroying their body through mundane means, but it eliminates them as a threat on Earth until they’re assigned a new one.”

“That was a demon?” Steven asked, relieved.

“I wasn’t there for the incident itself, but I heard about it shortly after,” Aziraphale said. 

“Now I’m seeing a giant wheel inside another wheel spinning in the sky all covered in eyes and flames, but I know some angels look like that. I only dreamed that once.”

Aziraphale smiled a bit. “Mostly when in outer space or going beyond three dimensions, otherwise it takes up an impolite amount of room. We stopped being allowed to do it in the upper atmosphere after too many witnesses fainted.”

The images on the screen changed again and Steven did his best to describe it. “This isn’t something I’ve seen before. It’s the inside of a shack, and there’s a little boy lying on a mat and he’s crying and holding his stomach. There’s a woman who’s trying to calm him down and she’s talking to a man and he looks very, like, maybe conflicted? They all look East Asian.”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m so done,” Andrew’s voice says again. Steven hears fingers snapping.

****

Everyone was staring at Andrew, and Aziraphale was probably about to lecture him for prematurely pulling Steven out of the trance. Andrew didn’t care. He started pacing around his bedroom as he addressed Steven, who was sitting up on Andrew’s bed and blinking with confusion at the sudden transition. “The curse was showing you things from my life that I was the most afraid you’d find out about, and I wasn’t afraid of that last thing until today.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Jen asked. She was small enough to perch on the platform of Wellington’s cat tower and had him in her lap. Ever since she found out that Andrew had blessed his cat to become hypoallergenic she’d enjoyed being able to pet a cat without discomfort. Plus Wellington could get very loud if he felt neglected.

“China, 1960. I was issued an ethnic Han body and a cover identity as a doctor and sent to go save people from the famine. I didn’t see Famine himself. He doesn’t always show up in person.” Andrew’s pacing sped up. He folded his hands behind his back to keep from tugging at his hair. “Certain people. Not everyone. Not whomever I liked, that was very clear in the orders. But this boy had been so hungry that he ate enough dirt to cause an intestinal blockage, and that’s an excruciating way to die. I’d seen so much death in that assignment. I’d seen so much of Death himself. He’s actually pretty cordial as an individual, personality-wise, but he’s the only one of the Horsemen who’s a natural part of existence and is not inherently evil. Some even call him more of a specialized angel. Death made himself visible to me, scythe ready, and he asked me if I was going to do anything. I did. I saved him.”

Aziraphale, from his place sitting on the very edge of the bed, gave Andrew a look of infinite understanding. “If you were punished for that -”

“Barely. Raphael said my motives were sound, but I had clearly gotten a bit too sensitive and independent-minded and needed time away from Earth. I didn’t get sent back again until this assignment.” Andrew gestured at his current body. “So excuse me for freaking out. It’s like Famine tapped into the most fucking _triggering_ thing that his skillset could recreate for me to go through wall over agan..”

“I’m sorry,” Steven said.

“Don’t apologize for being collateral damage,” Andrew snapped. He stopped pacing and reached out to Aziraphale. “What can you do? Please tell me there’s something you can do.”

“I’d like Crowley’s second opinion,” Aziraphale said delicately.

“Shane’s friend, Aziraphale’s partner,” Jen stage-whispered at Steven. “In case you forgot.”

“Is he an angel too?” Steven asked, clearly bowled over at the idea of having three angels worrying about him personally. 

Aziraphale coughed. “He’s...much more naturally angelic than you are?”

Despite everything, Andrew laughed.

****

Steven simultaneously really wanted to know what Crowley looked like behind his sunglasses and really hoped he wouldn’t take them off. They’d waited a few hours for Crowley to be done taping the Ruining History episode. Andrew had wanted to summon Crowley immediately - and possibly literally - but Steven had convinced Andrew that his condition was stable for now. He didn’t want to cause any more trouble than he had. 

(The one time Steven had been alone, to go to the bathroom, he’d drunk some liquid soap. Aziraphal caught him at it and quietly miracled it out of him without alerting Andrew and worsening his mood. Steven doubted he’d be left alone for even a second now.)

Andrew was alone in the kitchen making enough dumplings from multiple cultures to feed an international wedding banquet. Aziraphale had advised Steven and Jen to leave him to work off his frustrations for awhile. Right now the two humans were on the living room couch watching Aziraphale and Crowley share a bottle of wine at the dining table and having a heated discussion. The problem was that the heated discussion was in Middle Aramaic, which both of them had learned fluently when that was relevant.

At one point Crowley broke off and commented in English, “Jen, can you believe that his Middle Aramaic is still somehow better than his Modern French?”

“I was extremely flustered that time in Paris and that is not representative of my current skill level,” Aziraphale retorted, blushing. Then they were back at it. 

“They’re so married in every way that counts, it hurts to look at,” Jen said. 

“Still trying to wrap my head around it, but I trust you and Andrew if you say Crowley’s good now.” Also, Jen was eating from the bag of Hot Cheetos Crowley had given her when he arrived. Because he knew she liked them, no other reason. That said something. 

“Hell kicked him out because he decided he wants humans to be happy and the angel bae thing was just icing on the cake. Wanna try a cheeto?”

“I don’t like those even when I’m not under an evil spell, but thank you,” Steven said. 

Eventually Crowley asked Steven to get comfortable lying down on the couch and pulled up a chair for himself. Then stared at Steven for an uncomfortably long time.

“Well?” Andrew asked. Steven didn’t know when he’d emerged. He had a dishcloth over one shoulder and a smudge of flour on his cheek. 

Crowley sighed. “I think you need to go hash this out with the Horseman himself, Andrew.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth section has someone briefly describe a gorier concept than anything to be found in the rest of this fic, just a heads-up if that's the sort of thing you need to brace yourself for. It's still nothing that wouldn't be permitted in PG-13 movie dialogue.

Steven blinked awake. He was in Andrew’s room, lying on the bed again and warmly tucked in. Andrew was lying next to him, on top of the covers, not staring at him but not looking away either. No wing this time. “What happened?”

“You had another massive panic attack that included biting your own fingers, and I made you take a nap,” Andrew said calmly. His face was unreadable. “Jen was irritated with me. Said I wasn’t respecting your bodily autonomy. After she was done yelling at me she maintained that her point was valid - which yes, probably - but admitted she needed a break from the intense situation. Crowley took her out for a change of scenery, maybe some therapeutic marijuana use, none of my business. Aziraphale is supportive but way too much of a fuddy-duddy.”

“Gotcha.” During the 24 hours they’d mostly spent handcuffed to each other, Steven had accompanied Jen to get what she always called her "weed card" renewed (though they’d removed the handcuffs in the clinic itself to avoid causing the wrong impression). Before then, he'd had no idea how much she relied on it as an accompaniment to her more traditional ADHD medication. She had to be super stressed out right now to be excusing herself to use it. 

“Those three are going to look after you when I’m gone. If I’m gone long enough, Sara and Ryan might pitch in. You can ask all of them whatever you want. I’m not under the same constraints they are.”

“How do those two know about all this? And why not Shane?”

Andrew bit his lip. “Ask one of the others after. This isn’t a good time. I’ve written letters for them, just in case.”

“In case of what?” Steven cautiously tugged his left arm free of the blankets and loosely wrapped a hand around Andrew’s nearest wrist, as if that would keep him here.

Andrew looked at Steven’s hand but didn’t try to free himself. “You know how sometimes when fancy businesspeople go on a business trip their company will give them, like, a company card, to charge stuff to as needed?”

“Uh huh…”

“And they get a per diem, but if they go over it the company will see that they’ve gone over the limit and they’ll have to justify the expense?”

“I guess?”

Andrew’s lip twitched in what might have been the start of a sad smile. “Imagine instead of money, it’s miracles. And if the audit doesn’t go well, there’s a possibility I might get yanked from this mission. No more Earth for another few decades. Don’t try to talk me out of this. The alternative is unacceptable.”

This made Steven feel very cold. “But what actually happens if you get taken out of the mission?”

“They send a replacement to be a guardian to the person I’m actually assigned to. Andew Ilnyckyj is probably going to be reported dead. Convincingly. You’re going to either have your memory altered so you think it’s true, or you’ll have to agree to fake believing it. I’m very sorry about that.”

“This is horrible, you know that right?” Now Steven’s throat stung, and he could feel tears gathering. 

“From Heaven’s perspective, this body, this identity, is like one of those puppets wildlife rescuers wear on their hands to feed orphaned chicks. So they’ll think they’re being fed by another bird, and not have their behavior affected.” Andrew paused, and his face went so, so soft, yet somehow ready to shatter. “You’re not the only human friend I’ve ever gotten close to. Not even the first one I made as Andrew. But you’ve encouraged _me_ to be more human than anyone else ever has.”

“Really?”

Andrew nodded. “If I can go negotiate with Famine and get him to leave you alone, then back here and not get in too much trouble in the process, I’m going to work harder to show you how much I appreciate that.”

“And if you can’t?”

“You’ll have the best team possible helping you. They’ll search for alternatives. No, I’m not going to wait for them to try any alternatives first.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I know.” Andrew scooted closer and pressed their foreheads together, so intimate both of them had to close their eyes even though it wasn’t anything like a kiss. “In the human Paradise, Julia Child runs a restaurant that reimagines her favorite recipes using ingredients she could never have accessed when she was still alive. I’ve already made a reservation. Table for two, the day Steven Lim dies. You need to keep being good, though, that part is out of my control. Don’t you dare rush it either. I want you to be old and wrinkly when you come to our gates, before you pass through it and soul morphs into looking like whatever age you prefer.”

Steven adjusted their position into a more conventional horizontal cuddle and let out a shaky laugh. The tears weren’t quite here yet, but he could feel them coming soon. “Okay. Looking forward to it.”

“There’s no scenario in which you do not end up freed and healed, the question is how much I pay for it. But it’s all…”

“Nope, nope, you can’t be serious -”

“...Worth it.” Andrew chuckled and gently peeled Steven off him. He got to his feet. If Steven looked carefully, Andrew’s eyes looked damp too. “By the way, I’m Nichiel, Angel of Feeding the Righteous. I hope I’ll see you back here soon.”

Then Andrew crumbled into golden particles and vanished. Aziraphale came into the room almost immediately. He had a great shoulder to cry on.

****

Shane had given Andrew some tips on refining the “travel by wi-fi signal” technique he’d been independently devising on his own. As far as he knew, no other celestial/ex-celestial being had ever figured it out, though he’d heard Crowley could use phones in a similar manner. Andrew didn’t want to waste time travelling by human routes. Getting there this way instead would draw attention to himself, but he was already over his unexamined miracle allowance. In for a penny. It drew less attention and was less tiring than flying on his own power would have.

The most important part of all these was having an exit you could aim for and recognize once you found it. Otherwise you risked coming out somewhere undesirable, or worse bouncing around indefinitely. Andrew remembered the precise flavor of the wifi that he had used at the hotel in Aspen, and used that to guide him to appearing in the basement, from which the signal emanated. Thankfully nobody was down there at the time, and it was simple to make everyone he walked past on the way upstairs and out the door simply not notice him.

Before leaving with Jen, Crowley had made a quick phone call to Slm’s customer service representative and claimed to be a co-writer of a food blog who was interested in both reserving a table and maybe having a chat with Dr. Sable. This was not entirely a lie. Months ago, Aziraphale had taken up writing his own restaurant reviews as a hobby, and Crowley took photos of the food and helped him with the technical aspects of getting it online. (Crowley introducing himself as “Anthony Fell” had made Aziraphale go slightly pink.)

There was still time left before the appointment Crowley had booked, so Andrew chose to walk to the restaurant and give his body some endorphins. He miracled himself a jacket, not because he needed one, but to keep from looking too odd entering a restaurant on a chilly October day in Colorado. By this point the small miracle expenditure didn’t matter to him. Nothing mattered except convincing Famine to leave Steven alone before Heaven passed whatever judgment it was going to pass on Nichiel.

****

“What do you mean, he’s _Ryan’s_ guardian angel?” Steven spluttered. Jen and Crowley were back for dinner, and everything Andrew had cooked tasted fine to Steven.

“Ryan legit sees ghosts and demons,” Jen said, picking up another gyoza with her chopsticks. “Shane was supposed to keep Ryan from learning important truths or something. Andrew was keeping an eye on Shane without Shane knowing. It was all kinda ‘There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.’”

“But Shane got fond of Ryan and Sara and being on Earth in general, asked me for help in defecting from Hell,” Crowley explained. “Drama ensued.”

“Not the most dramatic we’ve ever been mixed up in, mind you, but it had some impressive elements despite the far lower stakes,” Aziraphale said, ladling additional broth into Steven’s bowl without being asked.

“You’re worse than my grandma,” Steven said, without any anger to it. He felt like he was following a script for happy banter with random supernatural stuff wedged in rather than having a real conversation. He couldn’t stop worrying about Andrew.

****

As a last-minute idea, Andrew also miracled himself a white handkerchief. When Famine finally laid eyes on him, Andrew held it out and gave it a flutter. “Parley. Please.”

Famine raised his eyebrows, dryly amused. “Step into my office.”

The office was in the back of the restaurant, all clean lines and wood panels. The carpet was a dark maroon, like dried blood, and there was no furniture except one chair behind a black desk with a stack of Dr. Sable’s best-selling diet books, a blank notepad, and a single fountain pen. 

Settling into the chair and steepling his fingers, Famine said, “Well, what are you here to say?”

Andrew folded up the handkerchief in a very deliberate manner so he could do something with his hands that didn’t look like fidgeting. “I want you to set Steven Lim free of the curse you put on him.”

“Ah, you finally noticed. I wondered how long it would take you.”

Consciously unclenching his jaw, Andrew continued, “I won’t hurt others, and I won’t betray Heaven. But whatever else you want in exchange, I’ll do it.”

Famine looked like he’d just been offered a box of jewels and told to pick one. “Interesting. You’re not going to try to fight me? I admit I was looking forward to the prospect.”

“I’m not a soldier. Even if I was, you’re much younger than me, but you’re not a person so much as a consequence. God makes drought, frost, blight, locusts - but only humans gather together in vast numbers, depend on only a few food sources, and develop political or logistical problems that lead to you. That’s beyond anything I can handle in more than a token fashion.” Andrew pocketed the square of cloth and laced his fingers in front of him. Loose and down, not in prayer, but with an echo of it. “I don’t expect mercy, but even something like you can’t break an oath to something like me. What would make it worth your while?”

“Hmm. I wasn’t expecting this, so excuse me if I need a moment to think.” Without moving otherwise, Famine closed his eyes. Andrew waited in silence for nearly two minutes before he opened them again.

“Have you decided?” Andrew asked.

Picking up the fountain pen, Famine twirled it for a few seconds. When he stopped, it had become a slender boning knife, as in meant for carving meat away from bone. “I’ve heard angels in mortal shells never get hungry.”

“I admit to sometimes getting food cravings, but no, we don’t get the sensation of hunger.”

“Pain?”

“Pain is optional.”

Another eyebrow raise. “Why would you choose to feel pain, if you didn’t have to?

“Pain is a protective warning system that alerts you when something is wrong with your body. We’re advised to allow ourselves to feel pain by default, to reduce needless healing, but we can turn it off if it becomes too much of a hassle.” 

“Your sense of pain is on right now, then,” Famine said. 

And threw the knife deep into Andrew’s stomach. 

Andrew yelped and grabbed at the handle, but Famine waggled his index finger. “Shh, shh, stay quiet, don’t frighten my employees. Don’t pull it out. Don’t heal yourself. Don’t stop feeling it. Keep feeling that pain. I’ll know if you try to trick me. I can see it in your eyes.”

“What do you...what do you want…” Andrew could barely stay standing, let alone form words. He’d never bothered to go through any physical pain worse than a stubbed toe before, which was like going from touching your first snowflake to attempting Olympic ski jumping with no experience anywhere in between. The only strengths he had going for him were inhuman endurance and will.

“In exchange for me freeing Steven Lim, you’re going to open the rest of your belly and bowels up for me to see. Modified seppuku, as it were, to show how sorry you are for disrespecting me on my own territory.” Famine placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward on them, smiling with sharp needle-teeth. 

“Swear by your scales that you'll release him immediately and forever,” Andrew gasped. Thankfully, Famine wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of that one.

“I swear. Get on with it.”

Andrew sank to his knees to make his job ever-so-slightly more feasible, and mentally prepared himself to drag the knife across and hurt himself even more. 

Then there was a blinding light, and a feminine voice in his ear chastising him, “What in the name of pretty much anything besides Heaven are you doing, Nichiel?”

“No, no, no, wait, I’m almost done, don’t get in the way!” But the knife slid out of him without his permission and he felt cool fingers under his shirt pinching the wound closed and sealing it. Everything got very loud.

****

“You okay?” Steven asked Aziraphale, who had gone completely still in the middle of a sentence while trying to teach the pair of humans how to play Versailles-rules card games with him and Crowley. 

“He felt a disturbance in the Force,” Crowley said, sounding like he was nervous but trying to make a joke out of it. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and returned his attention to shuffling the deck. “It’s fine.”

“You gotta give us more than that,” Jen said.

“He said he’d call me if he needed me, and it felt like he started to, but then changed his mind.” Aziraphale didn’t need to say who. 

****

When the light and roar subsided, Nichiel was lying on soft gray sand, as if the volcanic kind had been mixed with coral. He could hear ocean waves crashing and smell a tang of salt in the air, but there was only blankness around them in every direction and nothing in the slate-colored sky. This wasn’t pleasant at all. He was for sure going to stop doing this sort of thing to his human friends. He muttered inarticulately and sat up. 

The angel who had interrupted was looking down at him like she was torn between hugging and shaking him. It took him a moment to look past her outer appearance and recognize her. She currently wore a body with much darker skin than the last time he’d seen her in humanoid form, though he remembered the very long black hair in a bun with a hair stick keeping it wound in place. Like last time, she looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but instead of being more willowy she had a stocky, muscular build like a cis female rower or rugby player. Her accent in this language was a generic American one now, but remained full and sweet like browned honey butter as before, regardless of her firm tone. “We don’t get points for martyrdom. Your body is a piece of field kit you’re not supposed to abuse willy-nilly.”

“I had it all under control and I have an excellent explanation for all of my actions, Zedaquiel,” Nichiel said. It had been a long time since he'd attempted to pronounce it with a physical mouth: _zed-AH-kwee-el_. Angel of Small Mercies. They had spent a lot of time working and sometimes relaxing in close proximity in Heaven, though. He considered her a friend. But at the moment he only felt wary. 

Zedaquiel clicked her tongue and hauled him up. “I moved us to this timeless liminal space so you could practice explaining yourself to me first. Maybe I can give you some helpful feedback. Raphael already wants to replace you with me. But I don’t want to step on your toes, and I know what it’s like out there.”

“You do?”

“It’s hard not to start caring too much,” she said. "The angels who stay in the Silver City don't understand."

Nichiel sighed. “Zed, I was really close to resolving this. Please put me back.”

She shook her head. “That’s not one of the options, Nic. I don’t have long before I have to take you up, but I’m rooting for you, okay? Let’s find a better way for you to resolve your problem than gutting yourself for someone else’s sick entertainment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC alert! I needed someone to fill a role none of the canon characters can, I want more angels who use she/her pronouns in fiction generally, and also I want to show and not merely state that Nichiel has a lot of friends in Heaven. That's the biggest reason why he doesn't want to go down Aziraphale's path even though he supports Aziraphale. Zadaquiel's name is a mix-and-match inspired by the myriad names of Zadkiel/Chesediel/Sedakiel/etc., an angel of mercy in many traditions. I imagine her as an angel of *small* mercies, so not like sparing someone's life, more like giving someone two extra points on a test so they can pass a class in which they tried hard. Or like the rainstorm not starting until after the outdoor wedding got past the important vows.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Section 3, the Ryan POV portion, has a mild spoiler for a subplot in Video Appeal. If that bothers you, you can skip ahead to Jen's section, which begins with "Steven had sunken" , without losing anything important story-wise. If you haven't read Video Appeal but don't mind a mild spoiler to a subplot, I hope you enjoy it. (Or if you have read V.A., of course!)

“...Ultimately, I believe that my actions were justified, as Steven accidentally came into harm’s way as a result of a previous legitimate mission. Therefore, I was correcting the situation, not acting incorrectly.” Nichiel looked like he’d rather jump out the window and tumble through the void all the way to the Horseshoe Nebula than continue to stand in front of Archangel Raphael in this empty white meeting room and await judgment. Zedaquiel couldn’t hold his hand through it, but she’d followed him into their boss’ office and was standing a few paces away for moral support. So far Nichiel had kept to what they’d rehearsed.

Raphael’s loosely flowing suit was pale blue-gray today, and they’d styled their short auburn hair into what looked like a cresting coppery wave. They were, after all, sometimes called upon to calm seas, even if they were mostly associated with other forms of caretaking. After a moment of thought, they said, “I would buy that, but you could have simply taken him to the hospital.”

“With all due respect, he’s under a curse beyond what they could help.”

“But you didn’t know that at the time.” Raphael pointed at Nichiel with a slender tanned finger. “You skipped ahead to miraculous intervention that revealed your nature without considering alternatives. It would be one thing if you were devoting this much attention only to your charge, who as a seer is permitted to know these things anyway…”

“Steven deserves as much as Ryan ever has,” Nichiel snapped. Zedaquiel cringed, and sure enough Nichiel’s eyes widened at his own show of temper.

“That’s not the point, Guardian,” Raphael snapped back. Then, more quietly: “I’m not entirely without sympathy. That being said, you’re developing a bad habit, and I can’t go back on what I told you last time. Do you remember what I said after the China incident?”

“That if I can’t trust my orders for whom to give special treatment and whom not, I shouldn’t be sent out there any longer.”

Raphael sounded regretful. “Look, don’t make this difficult and I won’t revoke your visitor’s pass to visit the saved souls. Your friend is a good man and you’ll see him in a handful of decades at most. Maybe in a century we can do a re-evaluation over whether you’ve regained some healthy detachment.”

Nichiel’s gaze flicked to Zedaquiel, and she nodded, mouthing _do it_. “Lord Raphael, while I appreciate your consideration, I’m going to exercise my right to appeal your decision.”

“Are you sure? While that is your right, if you get a judgment back that’s harsher than mine, my hands are tied.” Raphael was known for being the mildest of the archangels, but it was a roll of the wobbly, inconsistent dice how merciful God would be from moment to moment.

But those dice, perhaps, could be weighed a little. If your function _was_ mercy. Which was why Zedaquiel piped up, “I can make the call for you.”

“Please do,” Nichiel said, face now settled into a stoic mask.

On Earth, this would require a lot of drawn symbols and lit candles, but in the upper echelons of the Silver City there was very little distance between them and the Metatron. Zedaquiel only had to make a few gestures and whisper the right words to open a direct line in front of Nichiel.

The Metatron boomed, _NICHIEL, GUARDIAN UNTO THE LIVING AND FEEDER OF THE RIGHTEOUS, WHAT DO YOU WISH TO SAY TO THE VOICE OF GOD?_

Nichiel got down to his knees and clasped his hands together, fingers interlacing. “Lord God Almighty, I have never pleaded for anything from You before. Please help me cure Steven now, without having to hope that someone else might figure out a way without me. There are other things I want, but they don’t matter enough for me to ask. I will let You decide those.”

_WHY SHOULD YOU EXPECT THE ANSWER TO BE ANY DIFFERENT FROM WHAT YOU HAVE ALREADY RECEIVED?_

His tone went from a humble plea to outright raw begging. It was painful for Zedaquiel to see a friend in that state. “Please, God, I know my feeble conception of ‘fair’ and ‘unfair’ is no match for Yours. All the same, I would rather go through absolutely any personal fate in order to cure Steven than...than have someone I, um, I, someone - someone I _love_ keep suffering because they were unlucky enough to become precious an angel.”

The Metatron did not, at first, reply.

Even Raphael, who only ever breathed for dramatic emphasis, seemed to be consciously holding their breath.

Then the Metatron said: _IT IS THE WILL OF GOD THAT YOU SHALL NOT BE REPLACED IN YOUR CURRENT MISSION. RISE AND WRITE THE FOLLOWING._

Nichiel cautiously got up, like he wasn’t sure he could remember how to stand, and willed into being a notepad and ballpoint pen to use. “Thank you. I’m ready, Lord.”

_ANTIDOTE TO FAMINE’S CURSE, SERVES ONE_

That stoic mask crumpled into naked joy. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much…” 

Zedaquiel never thought she’d get to hear the Metatron recite a recipe, complete with cooking instructions, and with a few terms and conditions of using the recipe right at the end. It was delightful.

****

Duma, Angel of Silence, always knew when someone entered his meditation garden. No matter how soft the moss under their feet and no matter how thick the hedges that hid the center of the labyrinth from the entrance, the slightest sound cut through his concentration like a crack of thunder on a hazy summer day. 

But that was fine. Silence that had never known noise became meaningless eventually. Nichiel’s face was a welcome one and Duma stopped floating in midair over his deep well of still water so that they could embrace.

“I wish I could stay longer,” Nichiel said, using the hushed tones every visitor instinctively adopted here. He was wearing the physical body he’d been using for the last few years, so Duma assumed his assignment was not yet complete.

Duma brushed a lock of blonde curls out of his own eyes and gestured for Nichiel to take his ease for a moment. Nichiel shook his head and smoothed away some of the wrinkles he’d created in Duma’s white toga from hugging him too enthusiastically. “This is a super quick visit. I’m gathering a potion together to help someone important to me. I need the tears of three members of the Host of Heaven. I bottled some of my own and Zedaquiel’s already. Raphael was there too when I found out, but asking them would have been really awkward.”

One of Duma’s duties was creating and dispensing all sorts of necessary and good silences: the soft dark silence right before one falls asleep, the companionable silence between two loved ones in the same room, the moment after the alarm bells stop ringing, the cessation of tinnitus, the silence that shows someone’s voice is welcome to join the conversation, and many more. Among them was the cathartic silence of having finished weeping. He summoned that silence to him and it prompted a few tears to roll down his cheeks. The glass phial Nichiel offered him sufficed to catch two.

“Thank you,” Nichiel said, pocketing the results. “It might be awhile before I can see you again, which I’m a little sad about. I’ll have to settle for hanging out with this one cameraman and friend of mine who’s pretty quiet.”

Duma kissed his friend’s cheek goodbye. He knew some of the things Nichiel wasn’t saying. That was another of his duties, to hear what wasn’t said, and never to tell. 

****

Ryan was having a nightmare about Mothman paralyzing him and eating him alive from the feet up while squeaking the whole time. Waking to Andrew standing by his bed with the lamp on was a major improvement.

“That’s a horrific dream; is it recurring?” Andrew asked. 

“The theme is,” Ryan said. His life had gotten to the point where angels barging into his room in the middle of the night wasn't beyond the bounds of acceptable weirdness. He might start living with his girlfriend soon, which would make spooky stuff harder to cover up, but right now the only thing he was really worried about was losing sleep. 

“I'm acquiring the components for a potion I need to cure Steven. As your Guardian, I could make you never have an ‘eaten alive by cryptid’ nightmare again. Do me a favor in exchange?”

“If you can fix some, can’t you fix _all_ my nightmares?” Ryan asked, sitting up but not emerging from his cozy nest until he knew more details. He’d heard Steven was supernaturally ill and that Andrew might get in trouble for how he was handling it, but that was all. 

“It would actually bad for your mental health to have no nightmares at all. It’d keep you from working through things.” Andrew glanced at the bedside clock. “Aziraphale told me just now that Steven’s gotten worse, so I’m trying to speed things up. How about no more nightmares featuring anything you researched for Unsolved?”

“Deal.” He did want to help Steven.

“Okay, so I need venom from three demons. I already met up with Shane and had him spit into a cup for me -”

“Wait, what? Shane has venomous spit? Is anything else about him venomous? How is Sara alive?”

“I don’t get what you - oh. Ohhhh.” Andrew bit his lip and pressed on. “He’s got a gland that he rarely manifests, let alone uses, like a last-ditch defense. I was briefed on his physiology when I first started spying on you two. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known. Anyway, I got venom from Shane, and Crowley says I can milk him later…"

This was a lot to ask of Ryan's sleepy brain. "Um?" 

Andrew buried his face in his hands and groaned. "By which I mean what they do to snakes! Making the antivenom! With the fangs!”

The only reason that Ryan didn’t worry about being sent to Purgatory, at minimum, for laughing so hard at the unfortunate phrasing was that Andrew started laughing too. It was as bad as the time Ryan had been forced to utter the line “the Gloryhole is a reported site of great tragedy” on camera. When they calmed down enough to continue, Ryan said, “No, I get it, I promise. But you need a third demon, right? And I’m a ghoul expert.”

Andrew looked cagey, like he was bracing for Ryan not to like what was coming next. “Can you summon Ricky for me? Please?”

Ryan blinked. It felt like he was being asked to call up his middle school bully in the middle of the night. “Is he venomous?”

“Dunno. You’re the one who saw his real form once he stopped having to rely on possession.”

“For, like, twenty seconds,” Ryan said. Most of which he had spent focused on more urgent matters than what Ricky Goldsworth looked like. What he remembered was like if a 1920’s gangster had gotten 60% through a Disney’s Robin Hood makeover, but as a jackal. 

“It’s still worth a shot. Your connection with him will make him very easy to summon, and I’d prefer to work with a known quantity.”

Once Andrew promised to fix Ryan’s carpet afterwards, Ryan followed his directions on scratching circles and symbols into the floor with a knife and setting up and lighting all the candles within a protective ring of salt. Nothing could be done by an angel directly. That’d cancel out the whole effect. Finally, Andrew provided him with a baggie of chicken blood to dribble onto the center while standing on the other side of the salt barrier. Andrew went to hide in the bathroom with the door cracked open, so that he wouldn’t spook Ricky but could keep an eye on the situation.

Ryan sprinkled the blood and read out the incantation Andrew had helpfully spelled out in as intuitively as possible, using the demon’s real name, _Rictus_. 

Ricky appeared in pinstriped trousers, suspenders, and a rolled-up white shirt. His tie was slightly askew and his shiny black loafers had some kind of green ooze on them. And yeah, his face had a long, feral canine sort of look to it. He scoffed when he recognized Ryan. “I thought you were happy to be quits, pretty boy.”

There were lots of reasons for Ryan to hate and fear this demon, but by the time they parted ways they’d come to understand each other somewhat. That helped Ryan hold his ground. “Are you capable of producing venom? I just need a few drops for a thing. I’ll send you home once I’ve got it.”

“What about Shemodai?”

“No questions.” There was no telling what Ricky might go spreading around back in Hell. 

Testing the barrier, Ricky gave Ryan an arch look. “If I don’t have venom, are you going to keep me forever? It doesn’t seem like the best plan.”

“No, I’ll use you for holy water target practice. See how diluted it has to be and still work.” Ryan smiled the way he remembered Ricky doing with his mouth, the smile that used to unnerve Shane even before he knew Ricky’s appearances weren’t just dark comedy.

“Shit, I must have warped you.” Ricky popped retractable claws out of his fingers. “Gimme a sponge to sink these into, and you can wring the venom into a jar of your choice.”

****

Steven had sunken into a delirium where he tried to cram random things into his mouth and eat them whether or not he was supervised. Aziraphale and Crowley had resorted to putting the comfiest straitjacket possible on him and chatted with him during his lucid, verbal moments. Otherwise Aziraphale read him old poetry and Crowley read him amusing Reddit threads while Steven lay quietly and made pitiable faces. 

Jen didn’t think anyone could possibly blame her not being able to take it anymore. She’d gone to one day of work after the day she’d taken off for Steven, and now she was taking mental health day. She knew Andrew was working on a literally God-given formula to fix the situation. That didn’t make watching Steven’s condition anything close to bearable. 

She was cleaning her windows when Andrew appeared. He had a big shopping tote with him and his hair was slick with sweat. “Hi, can I leave my body somewhere around here? In a chair, on a couch, whatever? I’d appreciate you keeping an eye on it. My own place is too chaotic right now, and this body won’t survive getting the last few ingredients.”

“What kind of super exotic stuff are you getting?” Jen asked, still holding onto the Windex bottle. 

His grin leaned slightly towards unhinged. “I need to turn into my, uh, my non-Euclidean form to take shortcuts and get this done quickly. A tube worm from the bottom of the ocean, some dust from the Moon, things like that. Also, after I'm in this body again I need to borrow your knife that can slice up chunks of sunlight. Please remind me. Don’t touch what I’ve already gathered. That authentic saffron packet is tiny and cost the most actual money of everything and no matter how fond I am of you, Jen, you are so very clumsy.”

“Sure, you do you,” she said, holding back a giggle at how ridiculous her life was now. Because she really was worried and this really was serious. “You’re like a fairy tale protagonist, except it’s not for romantic love. It's awesome.”

“Greater love hath no man than this,” Andrew murmured. He placed his tote on the coffee table and lay down on her sofa. “Close your eyes and count to ten before you open them again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The light was nearly unbearable even with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, it just looked like Andrew was sleeping. She put a blanket on him, even though he probably didn’t need it, and went back to her chores.

****

The roof of Andrew’s building had a barbecue grill and a few picnic tables that residents could reserve for an outdoor party. When Aziraphale joined Andrew there, the grill was already full of coals but had not been lit. Andrew had been been on his quest for less than three days and looked like he’d lost a substantial amount of weight on his frame and color on his face. He was tying a plain gray apron on like he was girding his loins for battle. Aziraphale recognized it from the Worth It episode on bacon. Though what Andrew was doing now was more like a cosmic Eating Your Feed, in which Andrew or his fellow Tasty producers attempted a very difficult delicacy they’d been challenged to recreate from some online photograph or video. Watching Andrew’s episodes had put Aziraphale in awe of Andrew’s patience and persistence. 

“There’s going to be a lot of fumes I don’t want to have to deal with indoors. I’ve placed all the ingredients and implements in a pocket dimension to pull out as needed, to keep things tidy, and nobody else can come up here until I’m done. The fire for cooking everything needs to come from the Flame of the Eastern Gate. I’m certain it’s referring to your flaming sword.” Andrew looked at Aziraphale expectantly. 

Before the averted Apocalypse, Aziraphale would be panicking at his inability to provide the flaming sword. Angels could miracle up something generic, like a bicycle rack, or they could miraculously have a specific personal possession conveniently there. But the latter, if a unique object, required knowing where it was. These days Aziraphale knew where the sword was and had reclaimed in a sort of spiritual joint custody between himself and War. He’d hoped never to need to use it again. This was a far more pleasant application for it than he’d imagined. All he needed to do was wish it to be there, and here it was in his hand. “This old thing?”

“I guess God approves of me hanging out with you,” Andrew said, taking in the sight of the sword with quiet wonder. “Please, do the honors.”

Aziraphale had already believed God approved of the course he'd taken. He'd never been turned into a demon for it, after all. But this new tacit evidence of approval gladdened him. He shot fire into the bed of coals, igniting it with a satisfying _fwoomp_. “I’m more of an eater than a cook, but I am happy to play sous-chef here.”

“I’ve become very appreciative of help lately,” Andrew said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like in Video Appeal, my love of Duma from Neil Gaiman's _The Sandman_ comics compelled me to give him a cameo.
> 
> Andrew was quoting John 15:13, KJV: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
> 
> There aren't many chapters left. Possibly only one, but I'm not sure.


	11. Chapter 11

hungry and hungry and can’t move and hot and cold and sounds and light but what are they there’s nothing but the want and the hunger that tears him apart and eats him now

liquid touching his lips someone says his name someone says drink and it tastes

tastes like

“Is this the $1000 Muscat Museum fortified wine we tried in Australia?”

(This was the first coherent remark Steven made. Andrew laughed and hugged him so tightly that Aziraphale had to remind him to loosen his grip.)

***

“You’re not Jen,” Steven said stupidly when he emerged from the hotel for his first day back at work. He was running late and only just now remembered that today was the Friday before Halloween. Actual Halloween would fall tomorrow. 

But there Sara Rubin was, dressed in jeans and stylish but affordable boots, with a light unzipped leather jacket over a maroon t-shirt that said SUNNYDALE HIGH SCHOOL in yellow letters, with little fangs sticking out of the H. She also had a wooden stake strapped to her belt. She waved cheerfully. “Glad you’re feeling better! I hope you don’t mind us giving you a ride instead. I thought we should clear the air before all of us have to share a workplace again. Well, you two should, I’m more here to help you feel more secure.”

Then a window of the car parked behind her scrolled down, and Shane waved in a much more tentative fashion. Oh.

Sara drove, and Steven ended up in the backseat next to Shane, who looked explained, “A lot of communication is body language, so it’s better that you’re not talking to the back of my head.” He’d drawn his limbs rigidly in on himself and was looking at Steven via side-eye rather than angling to face him.

Adjusting to the idea Crowley as a friendly demon hadn’t been super difficult, as he was a kind stranger whom Steven’s friends vouched for, nothing more emotionally involved. Steven also had a powerful belief in redemption. On the other hand, Steven and Shane had been part of an overlapping social group and occasional collaborators for years. Steven had expected to be nervous the next time they met, which he was. Steven hadn’t expected Shane to look more nervous than Steven felt. 

To try to loosen Shane up, Steven said, “Andrew said it doesn’t matter if I’m apparently a special case when it comes to unauthorized divine intervention…” He was about to say: _“...I won’t get into trouble just for being your friend if I want.”_

But Shane interrupted, “To be frank, I stopped caring what the divine thinks of me long before Crowley slithered over to Eve with a sales pitch.”

“He what?” Steven felt dizzy with the implications, though some of that might have been from skipping breakfast but gulping down overly hot complimentary instant coffee. And feeling guilty about not taking better care of himself after everything that had happened. 

“Let’s table that for later,” Sara said quickly, right as she flicked on her turn signal. 

“Sorry, thought you already knew. Let’s say that Genesis never outright states who pulled that off. Satan’s a big fan of delegation.” Shane took a deep breath. “My point is that I care about what Ryan think of me. You guys have been bros. I don’t like the idea of him losing that because you found out what I am. Plus he could use another person he can talk to about spooky stuff. It, uh, wears on him.”

“You help him a lot,” Sara said gently. Steven felt humbled by the love in her words. 

“If Sara stayed your girlfriend, knowing a lot more than I do, I think you can’t be bad enough for me to stop being friendly with you,” Steven said.

Shane smiled, closed-lipped. “Thanks. I hope you’ll vote for us in the group/duo category of the Buzzfeed costume contest today. Sara’s not meant to be Buffy herself by the way, but a generic Slayer, who I guess went to the same school?”

Sara made a grumbling noise. “The shirt is for context clues!”

“Yes, you established that.” Shane continued. “Crowley hates _Supernatural_ to a hilarious and eloquent degree, so Sara and Jen sat him and our friend Anathema and her boyfriend down for a _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ marathon last June.”

“Are you going to put your costume on after we get there?” Steven asked.

“More like he’s going to be a showoff the one day he can,” Sara said, amused. “I had to convince him that also having wings and creepy spindly hands out in the open would strain people’s assumption that everything was fake.”

“Wanna see?” Shane asked.

Steven nodded. He might as well have a few minutes to get used to it. 

With a slow blink, Shane’s eyes turned solid black. And when he smiled wide, his mouth was full of what didn’t so much look like fangs as far too many oversized black needles.

“I think you two are gonna do well in the contest,” Steven said weakly, managing not to shrink back and hurt Shane’s feelings. 

The couple rewarded him with obviously happy chatter for the rest of the drive. They parted ways with him upon arrival, heading to a different part of the complex.

Adam was already busy going over footage. While dressed as a garden gnome. The tall conical cap nearly fell off when he looked up at Steven. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks! Your outfit goes well with your beard.” At least today would be entertaining. People who’d be on-camera might not be able to dress up, so Steven wasn’t the only one in regular clothes, but from here he could see three zombies, a Star Trek officer, and a Moana. 

Adam smiled and shrugged. “Annie and Rie challenged me to find something original. How do you feel?”

“Really good, actually.” He could use a trip to the pantry for some free snacks, but it wasn’t a lie overall.

“We should be more careful about you two swapping germs,” Adam said solemnly. “It’s tough on the Worth It team if both our headliners are sick.”

“Good idea, though you’re a headliner too, you know. Speaking of Andrew, is he around?” They were still within the window of acceptable arrival times if you didn’t have a meeting or a shoot first thing in the morning. 

“He’s coming up behind you.”

Andrew practically shoved a paper bag from a local cafe known for healthy yet tasty breakfasts into Steven’s arms. He gave Steven. “Please don’t willfully do this to me on a regular basis; I’m not built to handle it like you people are.”

“Sorry,” Steven said sheepishly.

Adam made no comment.

***

Ryan:

_Yeah Shane felt hungry for the first time ever for a few days after he got hurt real bad and Andrew has to draw on his life force to heal him, idk but he seemed freakd out?_

Steven: 

_But it’s gonna be like this forever. That’s the price he paid. If I’m hungry, too full, nauseous, whatever, he’ll feel it. Stomach siblings._

Aziraphale and Crowley’s Joint Account:

_How about ‘tummy twins’?_

Steven:

_too cute, he’d hate it_

Jen:

_Maybe it’s meant to help him develop his empathy, too. Like the story about Death becoming mortal and dying at the end of one day per century._

Shane:

_Just don’t fuck up bad enough to go to hell, they’d love to simulate starvation on your soulif they found out_

Ryan:

_Wtf shane don’t tell people shit like that_

Sara:

_He’s grumpy because Ladylike beat us in group/duo costume_

Jen:

_All-gal Quidditch team! In your faaaaaace! :D._

Andrew:

_But apparently everyone’s cool with talking about me behind my back._

A/C:

_Steven is seeking outside perspective on your situation in a healthy manner, dear boy._

Andrew:

_Guess if you put it that way..._

Steven:

_Sorry_

Andrew:

_Stop playing fast and loose with your lactose intolerance and we’re even, ok? Get some lactaid pills at minimum. I don’t like pain._

Steven:

_ok *hug*_

Andrew:

_^_^_

Steven:

_Still mad?_

Andrew:

_Wasn’t to start with, really. For the record, I prefer ‘belly buddies’._

A/C:

_Acceptable._

Ryan:

_No hope for hunger homies?_

Sara:

_Digestion doubles?_

Jen:

_Munchies mates?_

ANDREW and STEVEN have left the chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Jen referenced is the Gaiman comic _Death: The High Cost of Living_ , a Sandman spinoff.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place 60-70 years after the rest of the fic and contains major character death. Bittersweet with emphasis in the sweet.

Steven Lim has spent the past five weeks in the hospice and is tired of it. His wife visits four days a week, which is nice. Her mobility is not what it was, but these days her heart is literally much stronger than his. Metaphorically, that’s always been true. Their kids and grandkids and the one great-grandkid old enough to behave in this setting have all been taking shifts by his side. He interacts with them when he can muster the awareness and energy. It’s nice when they hold his hand or read aloud to him. Much better than the TV that drones softly on the wall. 

Suddenly a tall, robed figure all in black slips in, walking right past Steven’s seventeen-year-old granddaughter, who is sneaking in a bit of work on her school paper while still keeping an eye on Steven and occasionally telling him about the latest nanotech research. Which is awesome. Life goes on, after all, even if his very fortunate one appears to be done now. 

Because the figure is skeletal and carrying a scythe. 

IT IS YOUR TIME, Death says, in a resonant voice that skips Steven’s nearly deaf ears and goes straight to his brain. Steven isn’t afraid, only worried that a certain someone else might not show up after all.

The swing of the scythe doesn’t hurt. Quite the opposite. The dull, woozy discomfort that the drugs they’ve put him on as palliative mercy couldn’t quite erase is totally gone now. Steven steps out of his body like he’s shedding an overly tight suit and can finally breathe easy. He looks down and his semi-translucent body looks young, around the age he was when he worked for Buzzfeed. Distantly, he hears a heart monitor go haywire. Death gives him a brief nod and vanishes

Then Andrew is there, right in front of him. Not the angel Nichiel, Andrew, in jeans and a black and white horizontal striped shirt like the outfit he wore to try conveyor belt sushi in Japan. He swamps Steven in a hug as relieved and joyful as the one he gave Steven when that potion worked so long ago.

“I was upset at you for leaving Earth after Ryan’s funeral,” Steven said, squeezing back. “I know you had to, but I had to mourn two friends at once. And people kept asking me about you. I kept my promise and never revealed any of it, not what you are or anything else, but it was hard. It really, really was. I couldn't have done it without all the help from the mutual friends of ours who knew what was up."

“Once Shane’s meltdown was contained I had no business near you, I'm sorry,” Andrew murmurs. He lets go and turns to regard Steven’s granddaughter, who has figured it out and started sobbing while mashing the nurse call button. “This one had to have been born soon after my departure. What’s her name?”

“Andrea.”

“Andrea? Really?” 

“All my kids loved Uncle Drew, don’t be so surprised.” Steven sighs. “I don’t want her to be this sad.”

Andrew goes to Andrea’s side and extends one wing to softly half-cradle her. “Andrea, your grandpa is going to be fine, and you will heal.”

“Can she hear you?”

“It’s unlikely, but she'll feel a vague sense of solace.” Indeed, Andrea’s crying continues but her breath evens out, her shoulders shaking less. Once the nurse arrives, Andrew puts the wing away. 

A door appears, its destination obscured by bright light. Steven gives one last fond glance to his youngest grandchild and follows Andrew towards it. “Thank you. We’re going to Julia Child’s afterlife restaurant, right?”

Andrew clears his throat, looking mildly embarassed. “I, uh, I upgraded our plans. I really missed you, and it didn’t help that I never stopped feeling hungry whenever you did.”

Cringing a tiny bit at the thought Steven accidentally walks through the IV stand and the bedside table. “Did any of the other angels find that weird?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Andrew shrugs and smiles. “But that’s all over now. Since there’s no money in Heaven - the people with jobs all work for the joy of it and drudgery gets done miraculously - we’re going to eat ethereal pizza at three different formality levels instead of price points. Since our first episode together was pizza. I thought maybe only us this time, so we can catch up, but invite our Adam next time? Ryan and Sara want to hang out with both of us soon, too."

“Jen’s still on Earth. She and her wife are on a cruise right now.” Steven has been in frequent touch with Jen, though they’ve only met up once in person since Sara passed on five years ago. 

(At Sara’s memorial service, Jen took point in calming Shane long enough for him to give a decent eulogy. As far as Steven knows, Shane went to stay with Aziraphale and Crowley afterwards, to get his head together. After losing the two dearest to him, Shane detached himself from his other significant humans and politely cut off contact with them. Except for sending Jen a few funny postcards over the years.)

“Long may she live. We’ve got time.” Andrew lowered his voice to a sly whisper, and leads Steven towards the door. “Speaking of time, I’m going to be selfish and ask for your company before you go let your parents fuss over you, which I bet will take ages…”

“Sounds great. All of it.” Steven slings an arm over Andrew’s shoulders. They cross the threshold together, and neither will ever feel the pain of real hunger again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! More Video Compilation ficlets in this 'verse are coming. This fic emerged from an idea for that, but I soon realized it needed its own multichapter story. One of the ficlets will have Shane h/c, I promise.


End file.
